But He's my Teacher
by CupcakeSprinkles14
Summary: Artist and social anxiety sufferer Peeta Mellark has never had much luck making friends. He chooses music over relationships and paintbrushes over kisses. When he and his best friend Madge sign up for Biology classes, Peeta immediately falls for the class tutor, Cato Hadley. When he discovers his tutor feels the same way, it spirals into an epic story about forbidden love.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is basically an excuse to right a less dark and heavy Peetato fanfic. I've been craving to write something more modern day anyhow, and after some helpful advice from my good friend Mattiboi, this is what got spat out! On my profile, it's called 'Educating Peeta' but I changed the name to 'But he's my teacher'.**

**The musical inspritation for this story is John Legend 'All of me'. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**But He's my Teacher**

You want to believe that the things you see on t.v won't happen to you. The documentaries about things as fatal diseases or the adventures of rebellious teens are out of reach, too far away to think about. Why should they happen to you? You're plain, boring, weird, nothing exciting like that will happen to you. You believe if you were in the same situation as the people on the t.v, you would be the bigger person, do the right thing, not be affected by the events being discussed.

But that's because you don't know what it feels like.

I am Peeta Mellark. Sixteen years old. And I am going to tell you the side of the story you never heard in the documentaries. The thing that is considered taboo to talk about. I am going to tell you what it's like to fall in love with someone you shouldn't.

This is not a story as elegant as Romeo and Juliet nor is it as gritty. It's love at it's barest. And I can't guarantee you'll like what you'll hear. But that's not really my problem.

It began, like any other day would, at College . . .

~xXx~

**Chapter One**

"Biology!" Madge ranted. "Fucking biology! Are you fucking crazy Mellark?!" She grabbed her best friend and yanked him forward so she could smack him. "What the hell possessed you to sign us up for _biology classes_?!" She slapped him again for good luck and slammed her hands down on her desk in a huff.

Peeta raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Because you signed us up for _dance_ Madge. I mean, _dance._ I didn't even know you could get dance classes!" He straightened out his notepad and arranged his pencils to distract himself from the burning glare that Madge was sorching the side of his head with.

"It's an unspoken rule that anyone who can twerk should take dance classes and you know it," Madge hissed. She didn't even have a notepad on her table, making it clear from the beginning that she wasn't going to take notes and therefore not even caring about whether she passed the class or not. That was alright, Peeta could do the funky chicken during the dance classes and fail that.

"Biology won't be that bad. We'll learn about . . . biological things . . ." he said.

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Madge scoffed.

"Well neither do you," Peeta pointed out.

Madge squinted. "Touche." She looked around the class, blond eyebrows furrowing into a frown "Why is there so many girls in this class?" she asked. Peeta looked around as well, only just realizing that they were surrounded by a variety of girls fixing their hair and adjusting their lipstick. "Are girls more inclined towards Bio or something?"

"Maybe the only other option for them was wood work," Peeta suggested.

Madge straightened up in her seat. "Or the tutor's hot."

Peeta rolled his eyes, folding his arms and letting them rest on his desk. "Madge, to you a beach ball is hot," he pointed out. Madge scowled before grinning, licking her lips and tickling them with her fingertips.

"Ooh beach balls," she said in a husky voice. "Those plastic airheads. Sometimes when I see kids playing with them in the summer and it's just like, 'I'd go all the way with you,' you hunk of coloured fabric." Peeta laughed, shaking his head and letting his forehead rest against his forearms.

"You're too much sometimes," he said.

"I know, but you love me anyway," Madge responded.

Peeta lifted his hand and let his cheek rest against it. He lifted his wrist and glanced at his watch. Class was scheduled to begin in about a minute-

The door opened and what he guessed to be the tutor came in. The man was blond and had a satchel resting on his hip, his arms full of files and books. Madge leaned forward in her seat, the ancient chair creaking with the movement. She squinted, as if trying to decipher what the man's face looked like, since he was still facing side ways as he made his way to his desk.

While the teacher set his stuff down, Peeta pencilled the date into the top of his page as neatly as he could. Madge peered over his shoulder and scoffed. "Trying to make an impression?" she whisper-hissed.

"Shut up," Peeta hissed back. He looked at their tutor, who let his satchel fall with a sigh and turned on his heel to face the rest of the class. Peeta felt a weird twang in the pit of his stomach as his eyes zoned in on his tutor's face.

He was perfection.

Obvious perfection.

Completely obvious perfection.

The man's bright green eyes scanned the class quickly and a smile was ever present on his face as he turned and liberated a piece of chalk from the desk. Peeta watched the piece of perfection as he scrawled his name onto the blackboard. Was Peeta going crazy or was the man's handwriting perfect as well? He took in his name.

Mr Hadley

Hadley. Peeta whispered the name to himself, the word seeming to roll off the tongue without anything to hinder it. Madge scrambled to pull a pad out of her backpack, slapping her pad onto her desk and quickly scribbling, pretending to take notes before Mr Hadley even started teaching anything.

"Good morning, class. I'm your biology teacher, Mr Hadley," the perfection-Peeta had decided to nickname him that-said. "I know it probably says on most of your time tables that you're getting Miss Trinket but due to a sudden breavement, I shall be your tutor for this semester and maybe more, depending on how long Miss Trinket is going to take off."

"That witch better take off all year," Madge muttered into her page, quickly scribbling down random notes about bones and body parts. "I wouldn't mind getting taught by him _all night long._"

"Sssh!" Peeta hissed.

Throughout the entire class, Peeta concentrated imensly. He hang onto every last word that his tutor spoke, and he thought he might have even learnt something, which never happened on a first day in class. He tried to keep his notes as neat and tidy as possible, in case Mr Hadley ever decided to look over them to made sure people were paying attention. He couldn't help comparing his to Madge's, whose writing ran together and margin was dotted with random hearts.

When the bell rang to indicate the end of class and Mr Hadley dismissed them, Peeta was actually disappointed, which was something he had never experienced before. Even Madge huffed, grumpily shoving his stuff into her bag and pushing away from her seat. Peeta packed up as well, quickly scanning his notes before putting the pad away into his bag.

"Well, that explains the girls interested in biology," Madge sighed as they exited the room.

"What does?" Peeta asked, adjusting his bag strap around his shoulder.

"The hunk teaches us about the body! Obviously!" Madge answered. "Don't tell me you didn't notice!"

_Boy, did I?_

Not wanting to give Madge to satisfaction and bragging rights by telling her she was correct, Peeta shook his head. "A hunk?" she asked, feigning ignorance. "Really? I didn't notice."

Madge rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if you've got any sexuality instead of being gay," she said. "No sex Mellark, that's who you're going to end up being!" She took in Peeta's confused expression and laughed, playfully punching his arm. "Come on, chum, I'm kidding!"

Peeta rolled his eyes. Sure, Mr Hadley was attractive (attractive? What the hell, the man was _perfection on a plate!_) but how many years older was he? Five? Ten? And he was his biology teacher, anything beyond teaching in the long run was completely out of the question so there was in point in getting excited like Madge was currently doing. "That's me, no sex Mellark," he said.

"If I had the chance, I would climb on that man and ride-"

"Whoa, time out," Peeta said, tapping his fingertips into his palm to create a 'T'. "Okay, sorry but I really don't want to know what's going on in that filthy mind of yours or what you're going to do with our biology tutor."

Madge snickered and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "No sex Mellark," she sang. You wouldn't think she was underage, the way she got on about intercourse and sex like she already knew what it was like. She frowned and stopped in her tracks. Peeta stopped beside her, confused as to why she haulted so suddenly.

"Where's your cardigan?" she asked.

Peeta frowned, looking down at himself. Damnit, he must have left it in the biology room. "I must have left it behind," he said. "You go on ahead, I'll go back and get it." Madge shrugged and went on ahead, waving goodbye over her head as they parted ways.

Peeta felt nervous going back to Mr Hadley's room, worrying that the man would think that he was some sort of idiot for leaving something as simple as a cardigan behind. His heart was pounding with nerves, the effects of his social anxiety almost crippling him. He stood in front of the door for about five minutes, his knuckles hovered over the door as he steeled himself for going in. The things that could go wrong went through his head.

_What if he yells at you?_

_What if he's taking another class?_

_What if he doesn't let you get your cardigan?_

_What if you stutter and made a fool of yourself?_

_Don't make a fool of yourself!_

Finally, he forced himself to knock the door, alarming himself by hitting the wood harder than planned. Heart trying to kill itself in his chest, making him feel sick. This was the horror of being socially awkward, all the things that could go wrong freaking you out to the point that even returning to a room making you feel like you were about to do a performance in front of millions of people.

"Come in!" Mr Hadley called.

Peeta turned the door handle with a sweaty hand, pushing into the room and trying to hide his panic. "Sorry to disturb you, Mr Hadley, but I accidentally left my cardigan behind."

Mr Hadley smiled, the gesture seeming to light up the entire room. The entire room which was-thankfully-empty. "I was wondering whether I was going mad or if that cardigan really hadn't been there this morning," he said. Peeta stood in the doorway, almost frozen by his tutor's emerald gaze. "Are you going to collect it or did you come to ask me to dispose of it?"

Peeta's throat went dry and he shook his head, feeling like a fool as he hurried to his seat and collected his cardigan. He quickly shrugged it on, noticing just then that one of his pens were also on the floor. Damn, how distracted had he been during that class, exactly?

"Be honest," Mr Hadley said, surprising Peeta at his casual tone. "How boring was that class exactly?"

Peeta forced himself to swallow, his mouth as dry as sandpaper. "It wasn't boring," he answered.

"That bad?" Mr Hadley responded. "You had to practically force yourself to get that sentence out."

"I wouldn't say _forced_ it out. It was interesting." This much was true, Peeta's avid notes were prove of that. He struggled with the zip, not wishing to leave until the conversation was over. What if he left and Mr Hadley hadn't said everything he wanted to? He would come off as rude!

"Well, that's very sweet of you," Mr Hadley answered. They stared at each other for a minute, Mr Hadley had the front of the room and Peeta standing a little bit higher up from where his desk sat in the auditorium. There was something the student couldn't pinpoint, something in his tutor's eyes that was . . . odd? Yes, definitely odd. Peeta felt butterflies in his stomach, making him feel a little sick. Was it possible for someone's eyes to be so green? They were like two emerald jewels engraved in his sockets.

"I've got to get to dance," Peeta finally managed to say, breaking the weird trance between them. He pracitcally skipped his way down the steps, eager to shield himself from the power of his tutor's eyes alone. He had a habit of getting overly attached to people because of the simplest of things and he certainly wasn't going to get attached to his bio tutor.

"Dance?" Mr Hadley sounded surprised.

Out of fear of seeming rude, Peeta stopped and risked glancing at Mr Hadley. "Yeah," he replied.

"You don't seem like the dance sort of person."

"Well, you see . . . um . . . my friend signed me up for it . . ." _Because apparently if you can twerk you have to be in dance class._ "We signed each other up for classes to expand our horizons."

"What did you sign your friend up for?"

Peeta felt his face burn in embarrassment as he mumbled, "Biology."

Mr Hadley's grin was so wide it revealed all of his perfect pearly teeth. Peeta's heart sighed. "I'm honoured to have you both," he said. Peeta risked looking back him, throwing caution to the wind and trying eye contact, trying to see whether he was being sincere or not.

He was.

"I should go . . . there's only a certain amount of time Madge can distract our teacher," Peeta said.

Mr Hadley nodded. "Yeah, you better not get a tardy slip," he said. "I know I have no tolerance for it myself."

No tolerance for tardiness . . . Fascinating . . .

Peeta nodded, forcing a smile, and quickly left the room. Standing in the corridor, the cool air caressed his burning cheeks. Never had he been so panicked before in his entire life. As he made his way down the corridor to dance class, he had to fan himself to stop himself from passing out. He couldn't wait till it was time to take his anti-anixety meds again.

As he slipped into dance class, giving Madge a silent nod of thanks as she kept the teacher's back turned to the class while holding a conversation with them. When the conversation ended, she sat down beside Peeta and quirked an eyebrow, her ruby red lips pursing in amusement.

"Hey, Mellark," she whispered.

"What?" he asked back.

"You're a hot mess."

Crap. What was wrong with him?

**A/N: Please let me know whether I should continue it or not? This story, even though light, is going to deal with a sensitive topic that some people might not like so please be aware of that. Thoughts and comments are welcome as always!**

**Please R&R! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: OMJ guys, thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I'm not ditching Chafed or Omega, by the way, I just want to have fun with a more modern day story (:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or the lyrics to 'Unchained Melody.'**

Chapter Two

At first, it was accidental. There was something about Peeta's cardigan that didn't want to leave the classroom. Every single day, without fail, he forgot to take it with him to his next class. It got so bad that he began to worry that Mr Hadley was going to think he was an airhead, even though the tutor didn't show a flicker of that across his face. Unless his smile had a sublimional message of,_ 'Poor sad boy, always forgetting his cardigan. There has to be something wrong with that kid.'_

After two weeks of class, Peeta realized that he was beginning to purposely leave the cardigan behind. As sad as it was, it was nice to talk to Mr Hadley. Their small conversations were nice, even if when they held eye contact too long, Peeta would get flustered and have to quickly leave lest make a fool out of himself. Madge didn't mind covering for him if they had a class next but she always had this silly smirk on her face every time they split in the corridor. Probably her dirty mind at work.

It turned out that Dance class didn't just involve dance, it involved anything muscial as well. This made Peeta re-think his anger at Madge for signing them up because, even though he would never do anything in front of people himself, music was one of the things he absoloutely adored. Madge knew this . . . maybe that was why she signed them up. When they were kids, they made plans to form a rock band. They were going to call themselves, _'The Merchants,'_ and were apparently going to take the world by storm. Except they never got round to it. Peeta knew it was his fault but Madge refused to let him think like that.

It was Peeta's fault though, he knew it was. Before he developed the social anxiety that seemed to follow him from puberty onwards, he had been a very confident child. Mostly because he hadn't realized the many opportunities for humiliation and disgrace until his voice broke and the acne came. But it had been his idea to start a band and Madge fell in love with it. But when the social anxiety did come, it became a struggle to even keep up idle chat with his friends. That's why they all grew apart and haven't talked to each other for years. But Madge stuck with him and didn't let him get scared of her. She was really the only friend he had from his childhood who he wasn't uncomfortable talking to.

The Dance classes were taken by Portia (she didn't tell them any other name and told them to call her Portia, nothing else). For the first two weeks, they did nothing but introductions to the course and some theory work. But at the start of the third week of the year, things got a bit more interesting.

"Okay class," Portia said, clapping her hands to capture everyone's attention. Her gold finger nails caught the light, the one sparkly nail on the forefinger of each hand confusing Peeta. Why was one fingernail always different from the others? It didn't seem to make sense. "I'm curious as to what the people in the class are capable of. Does anyone have a musical background?"

"Katniss sings Miss!" The girl who sat at the front of the room immediately announced. Peeta vaugely remembered her name was Delly. With a high pitched voice and outspoken attitude, Delly was one of the more extroverted people in the class.

Katniss used to be one of his friends. They shared lunches back in Pre-K and continued to do so in middle school until high school. It wasn't that Katniss left him when social situations started getting difficult for Peeta but, when her dad died, she seemed to grow away from everyone. Even now, she was shrinking into her seat, looking like she wished she could just disappear. Peeta remembered her singing voice well, also remembering that she did not like to showcase it. It made him wonder what she was doing in Dance class at all.

"It's not like it's an instrument or anything," she sheepishly mumbled.

"Don't put yourself down, Katniss," Portia encouraged. "Your voice can be the most powerful instrument you can have."

"Well Madge can sing too!" Katniss quickly declared, seeming to not want to be the only one in the class being singled out. As far as Peeta knew, Katniss and Madge were still quite good friends. Maybe Madge had a knack for keeping her friends stuck to her like glue, no matter how many people they grew away from.

Madge gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her throat in surprise. "I can?" she asked sarcastically. "I didn't realize!" Sometimes Peeta wondered what it would be like to be as confident as Madge, to not give a damn about what other people thought of him and to be open and loud. "Nah, I know. Golden throat, that's me."

Portia beamed. "Excellent! Can anyone play an instrument?"

"Like our fantabulous voices aren't enough," Madge joked, nudging Katniss with her elbow. Portia chuckled, liking her classes to have a laid back and casual atmosphere. No one put themselves forward to answer the question though. No one seemed to play an instrument. Maybe most of them just came for the dancing. Understandable enough, since it was called _Dance_ class.

"No one?" Portia sounded slightly disappointed.

"Peeta plays piano," Delly said. The mere sound of his name made his heart stutter and Peeta glanced at Delly out of the corner of his eye. How did she know that? He never played in front of anyone. "I remember hearing the music teacher in Middle School trying to convince him to play for the Christmas talent show."

"He doesn't anymore," Madge quickly said.

Delly frowned. "Can you forget something like that?"she asked.

"I wouldn't think so," Portia put forward. "Do you think you can still play, Peeta?"

_Still play? I play nearly every day. I just don't play in front of people._

Oh god, all eyes were on him. Swallowing hard to wet his dry throat, Peeta shook his head. "I-I wouldn't r-r-remember any songs," he lied. Delly didn't look convinced, neither did Portia. Madge was squirming nervously in her seat, twiddling with her thumbs as if trying to think of something else she could say to save him.

"Here," Portia said. She placed a book onto Peeta's desk, opening it at a random page. It was filled with songs. All of them pretty basic, he could do them with his eyes closed. "Why don't you play the class something?"

"Oh no Miss, that's not fair," Madge quickly blurted out.

"Let Peeta answer for himself," Delly said. "God Madge, sometimes you sound like his play-by-play."

"Oh shut up Delly," Madge replied.

This was one of those situations that didn't have an easy way out. There was no way in hell he could go to the piano at the top of the room and play something. What if he missed a key or messed up because of all the eyes watching him? But saying no to Portia's face didn't feel any better either. What if she was offended? Got mad at him for not doing what she asked of him?

"Come on, give it a go," Portia insisted. She sort of ushered him out of his seat, not even noticing the war going on inside of him. Peeta looked at Madge in a panic and begged her to do something with his eyes.

"Oh my god, what's that?!" Madge screamed, pointing out the window. Everyone turned to look at where she was pointing, even Peeta. He yelped when Madge grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him back into his seat. "Oh goodness, it was just a crow!"

Thankfully, Portia forgot about what they had been talking about. Peeta shrank into his seat, trying to seem even more small than he had before. He didn't want to be picked out again, certainly not about his piano or, even worse, his painting. He was lucky to have someone like Madge as a friend, or else he'd have been screwed over long ago.

~xXx~

"Basically, gas exchange can take place in a plant or an animal," Mr Hadley explained. "In an animal, it takes place in the alveolus in the lungs and in a plant it takes place in the cell membrane . . ."

Madge leaned over in her seat, frowning at the amount of notes on Peeta's sheet and comparing them to her own. "Damn," she whispered. She'd only filled half a page whereas Peeta was on his third sheet. Scratching the back of her head with a frown, she awkwardly twisted her head to read off Peeta's watch. "Oh well, only five minutes left."

"You can get a lot done in five minutes," Peeta muttered, continuing to copy out what Mr Hadley was writing out on the black board. Madge read some of the stuff he written.

"_In single-celled organisms diffusion can occur straight across the cell membrane; as organisms increase in size . . . _whaa?" She sat back and looked at her page blankly which only consisted of a brief description of what respiration was and 'Mr Hadley is hot' written in cursive with a glitter pen and surrounded in hearts. "Where you getting this from, Mellark?"

"The textbook," Peeta answered.

"Um, right, about that, can I borrow yours?"

"Where's yours?!"

"I left it at home!"

Just then, the bell rang, indicating the end of class and the end of the day. Madge sighed overdramtically, jumping up and sweeping her books into her bag. "Let's go!" she exclaimed, hopping down the steps two at a time. They were just out of the room and down the corridor when Madge stopped and slapped her forehead. "Oh wait, let me guess, No sex Mellark has forgotten his cardigan, hasn't he?"

Peeta scowled. "No," he lied.

"Then where is it?"

"Erm . . ."

Madge grinned. "Thought so." She lightly slapped his arm. "Go on then. See you tomorrow."

"See you Madge." Peeta spun on his heel and was half way back to class when she cat called:

"Tell Mr Hadley I said hi!"

"Sssh!" Peeta was pretty sure he was blushing as he knocked on the door. He wondered if Mr Hadley had cottoned on to what he had been up to for the past two weeks. And, if he had, that he didn't see him as a freak or a stalker. The thought of staying in school, even for just a little bit longer, was a lot more appealing than going home.

"Come in Peeta."

Peeta jumped, alarmed that Mr Hadley automatically knew it was him. It made him feel stupid opening the door and walking in. He ignored his heart-which always seemed to weep in want when he laid eyes on his tutor. Mr Hadley was sitting at his desk, a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read something from the book in front of him.

"That darn cardigan again?"

Peeta nodded mutely, not knowing what else he could do. When he turned to collect it, he realized it wasn't there. Mind going into overdrive, he panicked as he tried to think of what could have possibly happened to it. He looked back at Mr Hadley, who looked like he was trying to hold back a smirk.

"D-Do you know where i-it is?"

Mr Hadley stood up and walked around his desk. Peeta felt fear bubble up inside him as the man approached him. Was it just his imagination or had his eyes gotten greener? The tutor took his elbow and turned him around so he faced the door. Peeta looked at the hand clasped around his arm, noticing how strong Mr Hadley's grip was.

"I hung it on the hook," his tutor told him.

True to his word, Peeta's blue cardigan was hanging from the hook on the back of the door, ontop of the black military jacket Mr Hadley always wore. "Oh," was all Peeta could think to reply with. "T-Thank you." He stood stock still, terrified to move out of fear of doing something wrong. His skin was on fire from where his tutor still held onto his arm, the tendrails travelling up his arm and squeezing his heart.

He looked at Mr Hadley just in time to catch the tutor looking away. It made him wonder if he didn't want to look at him. Mr Hadley took the cardigan off the hook and handed it to Peeta. As he sheepishly shrugged it on, he couldn't help noticing that it smelt like Mr Hadly himself. Of some musky cologne and a small tint of citrus fruit. Peeta almost swooned on the spot.

"If you wait a minute, I'll walk you out," Mr Hadley said, going to his desk and collecting a couple of things up. "I have to talk to you about something anyway."

He did?

What did he have to talk to him about?

Was it _bad_?

Peeta inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth, a technique he used to smooth his frayed nerves. If Mr Hadley had to talk to him about something bad, he wouldn't have seemed so calm and casual . . . right? To distract himself from his racing thoughts, he zipped up his cardigan and adjusted the tassels so they both hung at equal length.

Mr Hadley slung his satchel over his shoulder and grabbed his coat off the door, pulling it open and gesturing for Peeta to go out first. They stopped outside the door so Mr Hadley could lock the classroom. "So, Peeta, here's the thing," he began. "As head of Pastrol Care, if a problem is brought to me, I'm supposed to follow it, and a couple of days ago Delly Cartwright visited my class and told me she's concerned about how you're adjusting to college life."

"S-She did?" What the hell? What did Delly care about him? Then again, she did seem like the annoying 'concerned for all' type. Those people were always very irritating, poking their noses were they aren't welcome.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed that you always look slightly uncomfortable," Mr Hadley said. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah!" Peeta blurted out, a bit too quickly. "Everything's fine!"

"What do you think has concerned Miss Cartwright, then?"

"Uh . . ." His knuckles were bone white as he desperately clutched his bag straps. The proximity between himself and Mr Hadley as they walked down the corridor made his heart flutter. "Delly's very excitable . . . maybe she's gotten the wrong impression?"

Mr Hadley raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Are you sure about that?" he asked.

"Yeah," Peeta replied. It was half true. Delly was very excitable.

"If you're worried about telling me about your SA, I already know. It was in your class file," Mr Hadley told him.

Oh god, why did he let his father tell the school about his SA? According to his dad, it wasn't a question of whether Peeta wanted the school to know or not, they had to be aware of his . . . 'problem' in case he took an attack in class. Noticing his hesitation, Mr Hadley gestured to the deserted corridor.

"I'm not trying to pry into your personal life, I'm just letting you know that if Delly is right-in any shape or form-then my door's always open for a chat," he said. "I can't pretend to know what it's like to go through what you do on a daily basis but sometimes just talking about these things can help."

Peeta nodded, unable to speak through his dry mouth. He wanted to say something and sound cool but he couldn't gather enough of his shredded confidence to do so. Instead he forced a smile, immediately feeling stupid because he probably looked like a manaic. Swallowing hard, he said, "Thank you . . . Mr Hadley."

They reached the exit and stopped in the threshold. "Remember, it's only school. It isn't the end of the world. You'll get through it," Mr Hadley said.

Peeta nodded again. His heart was squeezed so tight it felt like it was going to explode in his chest and leave him lying in a heap on the floor. "Thanks," he mumbled again, ducking through the door as Mr Hadley opened it for him. He jumped down the steps at the front of the school in two giant leaps, scared that if he turned around and looked at his tutor as he left, he'd pass out.

He was almost positive he felt eyes on the back of his head, watching him as he left campus.

~xXx~

_"Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered for your touch. A long, lonely time."_ As any pianist would know, the moment your fingers touch the keys, you're lost. In the music, in your mind, the melody. It's like a spell falls over you and you're gone. It's not a bad spell. In fact, most use it to escape from everything that's going on around them. _"And time goes by so slowly and time can do so much. Are you still mine?"_

Peeta was taught to play by his Aunt Mardgary. She had a beautiful piano in her house. It was sleek and black as night, always having sat infront of her patio doors. He could still remember sitting beside her when he was little, his hands not big even to reach all the keys and having to scurrying around to find them. She used to do vocal exercises with him as well.

When his Aunt died, he didn't stop playing. But Mardgary was the only person he did it in front of, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of doing it with anyone else. _"I need your love, I oh I need your love. God speed your love to me."_

Something made him open his eyes and stop. He stared at the keys of the music room piano blankly, wondering what he was doing. The room was empty, obviously, but Peeta wasn't sure what possessed him to play on it. Or sing one of his favourite songs for that matter.

He looked at the classroom door. It was ajar. Had he left it open? Unnerved, he grabbed his bag and left. This was one of the reasons why he didn't play in public. He'd forget things or the ways they were when he started and finished. Peeta was terrified of the idea of someone having heard him.

Okay, so this time Peeta _had_ forgotten his cardigan.

He went to the Biology room and peered in through the slit in the door. Mr Hadley wasn't there but his cardigan was, folded up on his tutor's desk. Peeta crossed the room and picked it up, smiling at how it still had the musk and citrus scent. He couldn't help noticing that Mr Hadley had left his computer open, the screen blaring a white glow and the battery humming.

Curious, he slipped into the seat behind the desk and examined what was on the screen. It was just a Windows home screen but two tabs were open along the bottom bar. When Peeta clicked on one, it simply opened up a lesson plan for the next day in the form of a slide show. He clicked on the next one, which was definitely not a lesson plan.

It was like a set of qualities set out in bullet points, as if Mr Hadley was trying to figure something out:

_Crystal blue eyes._

_Hair like individual threads of gold._

_Smooth lips, like two pink rose petals._

_Milky white skin._

_Meek as a mouse._

_Voice as smooth as silk._

_Barely says a word._

_Most beautiful thing on this earth._

Peeta frowned. What was he doing? Planning a fictional character? Maybe he was writing a novel. His eyes skimmed down the page until it reached the bottom. The list was endless. Maybe he was describing a girlfriend or something . . . Peeta felt his heart sink.

He felt immediately sick. Oh god, he shouldn't even be reading this . . . He scrambled out of the seat and quickly pulled his jacket on. Just as he was struggling with the zip, the door opened and Mr Hadley came back in. Peeta jumped and resisted the urge to burst into tears right there on the spot. Was he going to get angry at him for being there when he shouldn't be?

"Get your cardigan?" Mr Hadley simply asked, that beautiful smile still on his face. Peeta nodded and walked past him really fast without saying another word. It was only when he reached the door that he realized that he hadn't closed the window. "Peeta?" Mr Hadley suddenly said.

Peeta looked around, his heart stopping when he saw Mr Hadley looking at his computer screen. They met eyes and Peeta could see just how horrified his teacher was. Terrified, he grabbed the doorhandle and threw it open, running out of the classroom.

"Peeta! Wait!"

He didn't wait, he left the college as fast as he could. He was worried. About how attached he had gotten over two weeks and how the idea of Mr Hadley having a special other half had him super upset. God, he was such a freak.

Why would someone like Mr Hadley like him anyways?

**A/N: Please R&R with your thoughts! I hope you liked it! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews guys!**

**Sorry for any mistakes or typos, I'm loaded with the flu so my writing might not be at it's best right now.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Three

Peeta wanted to stop being so forgetful. If he felt like an idiot before, he felt like an absolute moron now that he knew that Mr Hadley had a girlfriend. Why hadn't he thought of it before? A man who has an entire class slobbering over him probably does have a significent other. Peeta just wished he had thought of it before. His cardigan didn't get the memo though and stuck to the routine of being left behind in the classroom.

When he went to collect his cardigan from the computer incident onwards, Peeta didn't even bother talking to Mr Hadley. He was too embarrassed to speak to him, knowing that the teacher probably thought of him as a nosey kid who didn't know how to mind his own business.

To ignore his embarrassment, Peeta threw himself into his biology work. Madge started copying everything he wrote at home instead of listening during class, claiming that he was doing a public service by letting her copy out his notes. He didn't mind, really. Since Madge had backed him up throughout his entire ridiculous cardigan quest, the least he could do was let her copy out his notes.

A week after Peeta had found the document on Mr Hadley's computer, he had only forgotten his cardigan three times. He supposed it was better that way, instead of deluding himself with something that wasn't going to happen in a long shot. He didn't know whether his tutor noticed or not and he tried not to care. Why would Mr Hadley care anyway? It wasn't like he had relied on the small chats they had when Peeta forgot his cardigan as much as he had.

"I checked out the syllabus, right?" Madge whispered, tapping her pencil on Peeta's desk to grab her attention. "And you'd never guess what I found."

"Something that would make you want to actually work?" Peeta guessed.

"Well, yes and no," Madge said. "After respiration we're going to learn about reproduction. _Reproduction._ Do you think we're going to learn about sex and stuff? I mean, I know we're sixteen but we're not idiots. They wouldn't think that we didn't know about that, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's not the actual dynamics but more of the stuff that goes on . . . inside?" Peeta replied.

"Inside?"

"Yeah, like the genes and cells and stuff."

"Oh!" Madge exclaimed. "Like sperm and eggs?"

Peeta winced at her bluntness. "Yeah," he answered. He didn't think that whoever put the syllabus together thought they were as idiotic as to not know how sex worked . . . Which was sort of a relief since a class like that seemed like it would be very squeamish and awkward.

Madge rolled her eyes. "Sounds delightful."

The bell rang and both of them jumped, Madge nearly falling out of her seat. Her book fell off her desk and she cursed, quickly grabbing it and stuffing it into her bag. Peeta laughed and tidied away his own things. When he stood up, Madge saw how his cardigan was tied around his waist and she frowned.

"What's up?" she asked. "Bored of your memory lapses?"

Peeta shrugged. "Maybe I am."

Madge chewed on her lip, looking unconvinced. She moved around her desk and placed a cool hand on his arm. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," Peeta nodded. "Everything's fine."

"Hey, Peeta," both of them looked down and saw Mr Hadley looking up at them, "can you stay behind a moment?" Peeta's eyes widened and when he looked back at Madge, she was grinning.

"I better be going anyway," she said, walking down the steps and leaving the room. As the door shut and Peeta slowly made his way down to Mr Hadley's desk, he saw her peer through the window in the door, giving him a thumbs up when they caught eyes. When she walked away, Peeta became aware of how empty the room was. His heart started beating so hard he was sure that if he got too close to Mr Hadley, he'd hear it.

"Is there something I can help with, Mr Hadley?" he asked, deciding to stay beside his desk and just look down at his teacher.

"I think it's about time we stop tip-toeing around what happened last week," Mr Hadley said, leaning back in his seat and taking his glasses off to look up at Peeta. "I can tell that it's freaked you out a good deal."

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have been looking on your computer," Peeta quickly said. "I mean, it's your private business what you do on your computer and if you want to list out your girlfriend's good qualities then you have every right to-"

"Girlfriend?" Mr Hadley asked, raising his eyebrows inquizzitively.

"Yeah, your girlfriend," Peeta replied. "That was about your girlfriend, right?"

"I'd be impressed if it was," Mr Hadley said. "Since I am gay and all."

"You are?" Peeta squeaked in surprise before quickly adding, "I mean, I am too!" He looked at the floor and fiddled with his fingers nervously. He must have looked like such a childish idiot. "So . . . boyfriend then?"

Mr Hadley laughed, the sound making Peeta's heart sigh. "I wish," he chuckled.

Peeta frowned at the floor. "Fictional character?" he guessed. "One of my first i-i-impressions was that you were maybe writing a novel? That's how you make characters, right?" Or was it? His teacher regarded him curiously, as if trying to figure out where he was getting his reasoning from. "Or maybe you were just listing out random qualities? People can do that sometimes, I'm sure, and . . . I'm just going to shut up now."

Mr Hadley looked like he was trying to not laugh at him. Peeta blushed, realizing how much of a babbling fool he probably sounded. "To save you telling me the rest of your . . . interesting theories, would you like me to tell you what I was doing?" his tutor asked.

"Um, yeah. That w-would be helpful," Peeta answered.

"I wasn't really doing anything in particular," Mr Hadley explained. "Just typing out random things to occupy my mind."

Peeta risked looking at him, his entire face feeling like it was burning. "Really?" he asked. Could it really have been something that simple?

"Really really," Mr Hadley answered. Peeta couldn't believe he had been so foolish as to look so deeply into it. "I can tell you were a little weirded out from it, especially since your memory seemed to have improved and you stopped forgetting your cardigan." His eyes fell on the lime green cardigan which was still wrapped around Peeta's waist.

"Oh yeah," Peeta said. "Nothing personal, I just thought it would be best if I started remembering to . . . collect the . . . cardigan . . ."

Mr Hadley nodded, as if he agreed with him. Peeta watched him stand up and walk around his desk so he could sit on the edge of it. "Are you adjusting better, now? It's been a week since I talked to you about Delly's concerns, right? I was wondering if you're doing any better?"

"Well . . ." _Apart from being plagued by an annoying crush on you?_ "I'm fine."

Mr Hadley smiled. "Well that's good to hear," he said.

Peeta smiled back, without need to re-think it or worry over whether it was socially correct or not. "Was there anything else?" he asked weakly.

Mr Hadley shook his head. "Nope, you're free to go."

Peeta went down the stairs and tightened the arms of his cardigan around his waist as he went. He tried not to let himself get too excited over the fact that the document he found on the computer was nothing to get worked up over but it was extremely difficult. His hand had just touched the doorhandle when Mr Hadley called his name again.

"Remember," his tutor said as he turned back around, "my door is always open."

Peeta nodded. "Thanks," he replied.

~xXx~

Cato sighed with relief as soon as the door shut behind Peeta. God, that was too close. How had he been so idiotic as to leave that document open on his computer? At least the student hadn't taken it the wrong way, thinking that it was a fictional character or about a girlfriend before actually considering the truth.

Actually considering that it was about _him_.

Cato hadn't really meant to start listing off the good qualities of the only student in his class who seemed interested in the lessons. But the boy was just so damn cute he couldn't help it. He remembered seeing the picture clipped to Peeta's file before he had met any of his students. The teen had a smile that automatically made you smile back. Cato had immediately knew that this boy was going to pose a problem, especially if his eyes were really that blue in person.

He knew that Peeta had developed a crush on him the moment he started leaving his cardigan behind just as an excuse to return to class. Cato thought it was cute and it made him wish that he wasn't the boy's Biology tutor. Cato knew he was supposed to smother the crush, since he was five or six years older than Peeta and was his tutor, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It wasn't like the boy was doing any harm, anyway. Plus, Cato couldn't help enjoying the fact that the boy who _he_ had initially thought was attractive felt the same way about him.

Peeta was so sweet sometimes Cato wondered if he was for real or was pulling his leg or acting. The boy would blush and flush red at the slightest provocation and he would stumble through his sentences sometimes, probably because of the SA mentioned in his file.

Cato had been asked by Portia to collect her bag from her classroom when he heard him singing for the first time. Honestly, he hadn't even heard the piano going until he opened the door and saw Peeta sitting there with his eyes shut, playing the keys with ease. He must have been _really_ into it since he didn't notice that Cato was there at all. Not wishing to disturb him, Cato had grabbed Portia's bag as quietly as possible and slipped out of the room, forgetting to shut the door behind him.

Even though he was gone, he couldn't get the sound of Peeta's voice out of his head. It was sweet as honey and smooth as silk, everything a perfect singing voice should be. It was that same day that he had left his computer open and Peeta had read his document, the things that he had written about his student that he really shouldn't have.

The list . . . The thing about the list was that Cato was trying to keep himself occupied from Peeta himself by writing about him instead. If he was distracted by writing about the boy then he wouldn't be as desperate to see him again any time soon, since he couldn't let himself get too attached to the teen himself.

There were sometimes when he'd be talking to Peeta where all he'd really be thinking about is how he much he wanted to kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Peeta was so oblvious, which Cato was glad for, since if he did know it would probably lead to complications they couldn't afford. Although there was a part of him that wondered if the complications would be worth it . . .

Thoughts like these were what Cato had to distract himself from. Because sometimes he was so close to breaking the rules so many times it was almost scary. It was why he typed out most of what he wished he could do onto his computer, to stop himself from _really_ doing it. He just thanked his lucky stars that Peeta hadn't found the other document he had that contained material that would be only acceptable in a rated M fanfiction section on a website. (Not that he knew what fanfiction was anyway . . .)

Even though he couldn't help his attraction to the top student in his class, Cato had to admit that he enjoyed talking to Peeta. He wasn't like the ditzy girls in his class and could actually hold a civilized conversation, even if he did stutter a lot. He had interesting views on the importance of education and had something to say about any topic Cato could conjure up.

The more the days went by, the less Cato believed he could stop himself from doing something he'd regret to the adorable boy with the bright blue eyes.

He couldn't really understand why he couldn't just let go and move on. He'd been attracted to people before but never a student and never on this level. Cato often found himself watching Peeta as he worked at his desk. He'd notice Madge Undersee-Peeta's friend-sometimes leaning over and whispering stuff to him but he didn't bother scolding them as long as they were working. When he was concentrating imensely, Peeta's eyebrows would screw up and he'd chew on his bottom lip. It was the little things like that that made Cato want to quit his job, just so he could have a shot with Peeta, which was ridiculous since it was just a simple dip of his eyebrows and knawing on his bottom lip. Why did it affect him so much?

Cato knew it was only a matter of time before Peeta did something-something that would probably seem small and insignifcent-that would make him be unable to help himself. And he'd probably lose his job because of this inability to control himself.

But, for some reason, Cato wasn't really sure if he cared about losing his job anymore . . .

~xXx~

After having 'made amends' with Mr Hadley, Peeta started forgetting his cardigan again. It was like his memory relapsed as soon as he realized that he didn't have anything to worry about over the document he found on Mr Hadley's computer.

One day, Peeta decided that he wanted to make an impression, for once, instead of coming to class in his plain old green cardigan and sneakers. Of course, this had gotten Madge excited and she insisted upon telling him what to wear herself. Peeta knew he'd later regret it but decided to let her go ahead and do as she wished.

This was how he ended up going to Biology class looking like a motorcyclist. Although, Peeta had to admit, the leather combat boots' little metal buckles that clasped together were kind of cute. Madge had told him not to take the leather jacket off during class, like he always did with his cardigan, even if it made it difficult to write. He told her that he felt like an idiot but she claimed that if Mr Hadley didn't see how hot he was dressed with her amazing fashion sense, then the guy obviously had no sexuality what-so-ever.

Madge left the class early for a dentist's appointment and when the bell went to signify the end for everyone else, Peeta found himself packing slowly as he was reluctant to go home just yet.

"What's with the get-up?" Mr Hadley surprised him by asking once the room was empty.

"Uh . . . sudden realization over what my true fashion calling is?" Peeta tried, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"So your true fashion calling is scary motorcycle dude?" Mr Hadley asked.

"Well . . . no. These are Madge's clothes. I . . . kind of wanted to make an impression on someone." Peeta decided not to tell Mr Hadley that he was the one he wanted to make the impression on.

"An impression?" Mr Hadley asked. Peeta nodded. "Do you want some help on how to make an impression on someone?"

"O-okay." If he knew what Mr Hadley thought making an impression entailed then he could do what he said and hopefully make an impression on his tutor. When Mr Hadley made a gesture that said, _'Come down here,'_ Peeta made his way around the desks and stopped in front of Mr Hadley's desk.

"If you want to make an impression on someone then you don't change who you are, for starters," Mr Hadley explained. He left his glasses on the desk and made a fleeting gesture at Peeta's current attire. "You're fine just the way you are."

"I'd doubt that," Peeta replied.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Mr Hadley said. "You're bright enough to know that pretending to be something you're not will get you nowhere in life, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm never going to leave an impression as boring old me, am I now?" Peeta muttered.

"You have probably left impressions on more people than you think without even trying," his teacher contradicted.

"I find that hard to believe."

Mr Hadley shook his head and pulled Peeta's bag off his shoulder, putting it onto a nearby desk. "Just lose the leather, okay?" he said, pulling the jacket off the boy's shoulders. Peeta felt his teacher's breath brush his neck and he shivered, trying to ignore how close they were standing.

"Okay," he whispered.

"And you should stick with the sneakers and cardigans, they're very cute," Mr Hadley informed him.

"They are?"

Mr Hadley nodded. "Trust me." He frowned and used his thumb to brush some hair out of Peeta's eyes. Peeta blinked, slightly taken aback by the small gesture. They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to say next.

"Well, I-I b-better g-g-go," he said.

"Oh yeah, sure," Mr Hadley replied, seeming to snap out of something.

Peeta hadn't realized that he had left Madge's jacket behind until he was half way down the corridor. _"Seriously _Mellark?!" he exclaimed to himself, turning on his heel and going back to the classroom. "Sorry Mr Hadley, I forgot Madge's jacket-"

As soon as he entered the room, he was intercepted with a kiss.

And not just any kiss.

_Mr Hadley was kissing him!_

**A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger! :D**

**Please R&R with your thoughts! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Peeta played with his fingers, sitting cross-legged on top of one of the desks. Mr Hadley was pacing back and forth quickly at the top of the room. It looked like his Biology teacher was on the verge of a panic attack. He was freaking out because he'd kissed one of his students. It hadn't even been a passionate kiss, either. Just a peck. Impossibly chaste.

"You're making me nervous," Peeta finally said. Mr Hadley didn't answer. In fact, the sound of Peeta's voice seemed to make him pace faster. "Mr Hadley, you're worrying me, at least tell me why you did it."

Mr Hadley stopped. "Don't call me that," he said.

Peeta swallowed anxiously. "Call you what?" he asked.

"Mr Hadley. Don't call me that, you're making it worse."

"Making what worse?"

"Just _sssh_!"

Peeta did exactly that. He shut his mouth and directed his gaze to the floor. He felt stupid. He should have known to keep quiet. Focusing his eyes on the patterning in the wooden floorboards, he let Mr Hadley work through his freak out. Peeta could practically hear the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to figure out what the hell just happened.

He had so many questions. He wanted to ask why did he kiss him? Out of so many people, why him? Of course, Peeta understood why his Biology teacher was going through what he was but the longer he sat in silence, the more worried he got. He wanted Mr Hadley to say something, anything. Something reassuring. Something that didn't hint that they were going to get in trouble.

Even though Mr Hadley had been the one that kissed him, Peeta felt like he was the one who had done wrong. He wanted to do nothing but for the floor to swallow him up so that he didn't have to sit there and wait for him to blow up.

Finally, Mr Hadley stopped again. "I shouldn't have done that," he said.

"_Why_ did you do that?" Peeta asked, his voice small.

"I don't know."

Peeta frowned at the floor, confused. "You don't know?" he repeated. Had Mr Hadley just randomly kissed him? Was it for a joke? A laugh? Was he doing it to ridicule him? Make fun of the fact that he told him he was gay?

"No, I do know," Mr Hadley said. Peeta was surprised at how confused he sounded himself. "But you don't need to know why that is. It's wrong, and I know that you know that it's wrong. And I definitely know that it's wrong. It was an accident, a mistake, a moment of severe weakness."

"Kissing me was an accident?" Peeta couldn't help feeling hurt. Maybe that was the only reason anyone would want or willingly kiss him. As an accident. Or a mistake. Or a moment of severe weakness. No one-never mind someone like Mr Hadley-would want to kiss him. He probably only thought of him as the creepy kid in his Bio class who always forgets his cardigan and is probably a complete stalker.

Mr Hadley looked at Peeta, _properly._ For the first time since he'd started pacing. The student wouldn't look at him and was instead staring at the floor. His heart sank at how sad Peeta seemed to be. Strands of blond hair had fallen back, obsecuring his face. Cato felt the urge to brush it back but he restrained himself. He couldn't. He _knew_ he couldn't.

"No, it wasn't an accident," he said, immediately knowing that he'd hurt his student's feelings.

"Then what was it?" Peeta asked, not bothering to look up. "If not an accident?"

_It was because you're beautiful. Because you're so adorable that there's nothing I _don't _want to do other than kiss you. Because if you weren't my student I'd have done this long ago. _"I shouldn't have done it," Cato said.

"You've made that pretty clear," Peeta snapped, fed up. He slid off the desk and shouldered his backpack. "I won't tell anyone. Is that what you want? Because all you had to do was ask. I mean, who would believe me anyway? I'm unattractive just enough for people to think I'm crazy if I tried to tell anyone-"

"You're not unattractive."

"Maybe not to _you_. You made that clear enough when you kissed me-" Mr Hadley slapped his hand over his mouth, silencing his words. Peeta looked at him with a confused frown, resisting the urge to bite his teacher's palm like he used to do to Madge when she covered his mouth when they were kids.

"Stop talking so loud," Mr Hadley said. His voice was extremely low and actually had a dangerous tint to it. Like if Peeta didn't do what he said, Mr Hadley would get mad. Angrier than he already was.

Peeta's fingers tightened around the bag strap. "Please just tell me why you did it," he whispered, his voice muffled through Cato's hand.

"You can't tell anyone, you know that, don't you?" Cato insisted.

"I wasn't going to," Peeta insisted back. He paused. "You'd get in trouble for it, wouldn't you? I've heard of those stories of teachers and students. Except they always make the teachers out to be the pedaphiles. You're not a . . . pedaphile, are you? I'm not saying that you look like one but . . . I think you can see how this looks."

Mr Hadley's eyebrows bowed into a scowl. "I am not a pedaphile."_ Well, I don't think I am but maybe you might . . . especially if you read some of the explicit stuff on my laptop . . ._

"Then why did you kiss me?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"No, Peeta, you're just a kid, you wouldn't understand."

This time it was Peeta's turn to scowl. "I'm sixteen!" he exclaimed. "That's age of consent in some countries!"

"But not this one," Mr Hadley simply said.

Peeta smacked his hand off his mouth and pushed past his teacher, going to the door. "Fine, whatever. Do what you like. I won't tell anyone that you kissed me and don't explain to me _why_ you kissed me, whatever, I don't care, just don't expect me to keep coming to this class. I'm sure there's some room in home ec and still time for me to change classes-"

Mr Hadley grabbed his wrist and stopped him from leaving. "No, you can't do that!" he exclaimed.

"Why not?!" Peeta was staring at the hand around his wrist. His heart felt like someone was punching it like a bag of flour. He felt his face heat up and he hoped it wasn't noticable. He didn't want Mr Hadley to know that he could get flustered by having someone simply holding his wrist. "Wouldn't it be for the best?"

"No, you can't leave my class," Mr Hadley said. He sounded almost desperate. It made Peeta worried.

"But why?" Peeta asked. Flustered mixed with confused mixed with frustration. This was the recipe of a break down. When could he take his tablets again? "You're not making any sense, Mr Hadley."

"Stop calling me that," Mr Hadley snapped.

Peeta shrank back, wishing he could just leave already, lest his teacher get any angrier at him. "What do I call you then?" he whispered.

A flash of confliction dashed across Mr Hadley's eyes. "Call me Cato. But only outside class."

"_Outside _class?"

"Don't move to home ec, I know you like this class," Mr Hadley-or . . . _Cato_-told him. "Don't let my mistake scare you into moving."

Peeta tugged his wrist out of Cato's hand, folding his arms indignantly. "You didn't _scare_ me," he said, offended. He wasn't scared. Confused? Yes. Freaked out? Definitely. Flustered? More than a little bit. But certainly not scared. "It takes a lot more to scare me than a kiss."

"Oh really?"

Peeta stood straighter, trying to seem more confident than he was. "Really," he said.

Why did he have to stand like that? Cato had to stop himself from kissing Peeta again. The way he was standing in front of him, scowling, with his bottom lip sticking out just the tiniest of bits. . . _God,_ he really wanted to take that bottom lip between his teeth and knaw on it until he moaned. Jeez, Hadley, get a hold of yourself . . . Peeta was watching him with those big blue eyes of his, waiting for him to answer him. To say _something_. What was he supposed to say?

Cato wished that Peeta didn't go to this school. That he had met him in a club, or on the streets, or a diner or a park. Not in his Biology class. Because even if he was still sixteen, at least he wouldn't lose his job or be at risk of getting arrested if he kissed him. He was starting to get frustrated but he didn't want to get mad at Peeta, which he was failing at.

"Okay then, you weren't scared. But I really don't want you to leave my class."

Peeta chewed on his lip nervously. Cato fought to show no emotion on his face and to focus on the boy's _eyes_ not his mouth. "I'll stay if you tell me why you kissed me," he finally said. "The truth."

"The truth?" Cato asked slowly.

"The truth," Peeta confirmed.

"Erm . . ."

"I mean, I know you can't possibly be attracted to me. I get that. I'm not very appealing and I'm pretty sure you think I'm a nutjob with some memory issue because I kept forgetting my cardigan," Peeta rambled. "Or maybe you thought I'm mad. Or maybe you think I'm stalker because I was on your laptop reading your strange list-"

"I don't think you're a stalker," Cato frowned.

Peeta raised his eyerbows. "Oh _really_?" he asked. He wasn't convinced.

"Yes, of course," Cato replied. "I thought the cardigan thing was sweet."

This made Peeta snort. "Sweet?" he asked. "There were many things you could have thought the whole cardigan stunt to be but sweet is not one of them. You're supposed to think I'm crazy!"

Cato sighed. "But I don't."

"Why?! Anyone else would!"

"Because I like you, that's why!"

Peeta's eyes widened, his mouth frozen open as he was about to say something before Mr Hadley blurted that out. It looked like a load off his teacher's shoulders and now that it was out in the open, he seemed to have relaxed. Peeta wanted to ask if he heard him right, if he had actually said that, but the words didn't seem to come.

_Crystal blue eyes._

Madge used to always say that his eyes were too blue to be mortal. She said it was almost inhuman how bright and clear they were . . . like crystals . . .

_Hair like individual threads of gold._

His hair was in his eyes at that exact moment. To him, it was dull blond, but Mr Hadley _had_ brushed it away from his face earlier that day.

_Smooth lips, like two pink rose petals._

Okay, maybe not.

_Milky white skin._

People had always told him he was so pale that he constantly looked ill. Was that attractive?

_Meek as a mouse._

Meek? Wasn't that another way of saying shy?

_Voice as smooth as silk._

Nope.

_Barely says a word._

Uh . . . .

_Most beautiful thing on this earth._

Definitely not.

Still. He had to ask.

"That list . . . was it about me?" Peeta didn't dare look at Mr Hadley as he asked this, in case he was thinking ahead of himself and it wasn't about him at all. Rejection was one of things he feared the most. He could barely take it from the people he knew, let alone from the man he admired.

The pause between the question and the answer felt like a million years.

"Yes."

"What!?" Peeta hadn't meant to say it like that but he was genuinely shocked. He looked at Cato, bewildered. "Why?!"

Now that he admitted it, Cato had to get it all out, like purging the venom he'd kept inside himself for what felt like forever. "Because it's all true and I couldn't tell you in person for the obvious reasons but I had to get it out somehow so I wrote it all down."

"But most of it isn't true," Peeta contradicted.

"I wouldn't trust you to understand the extend of your beauty," Cato replied. It felt good, talking to Peeta like this, even if it was dangerous. Peeta was looking at him as if he needed to get his eyes tested. It was ironic, since Peeta was the one who obviously had to get his eyes tested. "I doubt you see what I see when you look in the mirror every morning."

"I don't tend to look in the mirror that often."

Cato couldn't believe it. Peeta had the ability to look at himself every second of the day if he could and he chose not to. It was ludicris! "Then you definitely don't see it," he concluded.

Peeta just stared at him for a moment before a look of realization lit up his features. "Why did you say what you did about my voice?" he asked.

"Because your voice is . . ." Cato couldn't find the words.

"Do you mean this?" Peeta pointed at his throat. "Right now? You do mean this, right? When I talk, my voice when I talk?" He didn't know why he was asking this. Cato hadn't heard anything other than this. Although he didn't understand what was special about his speaking voice.

"_Unchained Melody_ is a beautiful song," Cato simply shrugged.

"Oh god." Peeta threw his face into his hands. "Oh god, no. You didn't hear that, you're kidding, you have to be."

"Then how would I know the song title?"

"Oh no . . ." Cato heard him sing. Peeta hadn't sung in front of anyone and Cato had heard him. He turned his back on his teacher so that he didn't see his face burning in horror. He felt like he was going to cry. Forcing the feeling down, Peeta threw his bag onto a desk, quickly unzipping it and pulling out his tablet box. He quickly swallowed one and forced himself to calm down.

"Peeta-"

"Don't." Peeta held a hand up to silence Cato because the sound of his voice wasn't going to help at all.

"I can't understand why you're worried. Your voice is gorgeous."

"You can't possibly believe that."

"Why can't I?"

Peeta laughed, as if the answer was obvious. "I'm not even average. I shouldn't have even been in the music room at the time. Portia would have killed me if she knew I had been in there without her permission . . ." He could feel Cato's presence behind him, closer than before. Almost impossibly close. Definitely close enough to raise suspicion if anyone came in and saw them.

"Where did you learn to play? The piano, I mean?" Cato asked. Peeta sucked in a shaky breath at how his breath brushed his ear when he spoke. "12, of all places, isn't very musical, I'm surprised they even have a dance class in the school.

"My aunt," Peeta whispered. He felt that if he broke too loud, the moment would be ruined. "She was born in 6 and brought her piano when she moved to 12."

Cato could hear the self-doubt in Peeta's voice. He was aching to fix it, to convince him that he was perfect, but it was difficult. Especially here, in the school. He knew he wasn't really supposed to interact with students too much out of hours, but if they were careful maybe . . . Even if it was basically against the law, being with Peeta didn't feel wrong at all. In fact, there was a voice at the back of his head screaming at him to kiss him again.

He realized Peeta was still talking.

" . . . . and I'm definitely not as good as her, she was beyond perfect. Her voice could rival anyone's. I just wish she hadn't died when she did, I miss her horribly. Sometimes it feels like she was the only person in my family who ever encouraged art and music, since everyone else has their minds set on my taking over the family business."

Cato raised his eyebrows. "The Mellark bakery?" When Peeta turned around and gave him a funny look, he quickly added, "It was mentioned in your file. You're going to be forced to take over that?"

"The youngest always gets it in our family," Peeta explained. "Plus I never told my parents about my interest in art or music because I know they'll react badly. My older brother Wayne is pursuing a career as a doctor. And Rye wants to be an architet. Good jobs, solid ones, they don't need the bakery. Apparently since I don't-as far as they know-have any interests, they think they're doing me a favour."

"Just tell them that you're interested in music then," Cato said.

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't get a job with music, and that's all that matters!"

Cato had heard that line of thinking before. From his own family, ironically. He had been raised to believe that life was about passing exams, getting a good, solid job, getting married and having kids. Of course, when he came out as gay, two points of that list went down the drain, since Panem hadn't passed any gay marriage law just yet. When he moved out, he tried to do what he loved to do but life got in the way and he ended up as a Biology teacher.

"You really can't think like that, you'll regret it for the rest of your life," he told Peeta. "You're supposed to do what you love, not what your parents tell you you love."

Peeta was staring at a point past his shoulder with great intensity. "I know that," he said stubbornly.

"Then worry about your music, not the bakery."

The blond student scoffed. "Why do you even care?" he asked. "You're just my biology teacher who wrote a creepy list and is trying to give me life advice for some reason. Why do you care about what happens me?"

"Because I told you, I like you." God, it felt good to say it. "And stop acting like you didn't play a part in this either Mr 'I forgot my cardigan'."

Peeta scowled. "You said that was sweet."

"It was. You'd blush everytime you looked me in the eyes and would start stuttering like a startled butterfly," Cato said. His words made said blush to appear, staining Peeta's cheeks pink as he turned his face away to try and hide it. "That kiss, half an hour ago? That was nothing compared to the amount of times I've wanted to kiss you before."

A small smile. "Really?"

"You have no idea how difficult it is to hide." Even now, they were so close that if Cato leaned forward just a litte bit, he could press his lips against Peeta's again. He wondered if Peeta would object to it, or kiss back . . .

He was caught off guard when Peeta leaned forward and connected their lips again, only for a second. Cato blinked, surprised. He almost laughed at how Peeta had to stand on his tiptoes to reach his mouth because his height left him a good couple of inches below him.

Taking his tutor's silence as rejection, Peeta tried to back away, feeling stupid. Immediately realizing this, Cato stopped him, grabbing his elbows to keep him on his tiptoes and leaning forward to kiss him again. This time, it was like gasoline being poured on a fire. Cato couldn't resist licking his student's soft lips, gently nipping on his top lip. Peeta gasped, his lips parting to let his teacher into his mouth.

Peeta had never kissed anyone before but it felt natural to open his mouth for Cato, to twist his tongue with his tutor's more experienced one and submit to let him expore every inch of his mouth. It was passionate, much more passionate than he ever thought he'd ever experience in his life, and he couldn't help the little noises that came out of his mouth because of it.

When air was nescessary, Cato pulled away. He was smiling, like nothing could make him any happier. "You sound like a baby animal when you moan," he said, sounding amused. Peeta flushed in embarrassment, not knowing whether it was normal to moan while being kissed like that or not. Cato chuckled at this, pressing another comforting kiss against the boy's lips. He could kiss those lips for the rest of enternity if Peeta would let him.

"What does this mean?" Peeta asked, his voice breathy as he tried to re-catch his breath.

Cato thought about it. "Do you want to go out on a date with me?" he asked, his conscious telling him it was a bad idea but his heart knowing that he had to try.

"Wouldn't we get in trouble?"

"There's a diner, at the edge of 12, it's not very popular and takes about two hours to drive, I doubt anyone we know will be there," Cato explained. "How about there?"

Peeta thought about it. "When?" he asked.

"Friday. We can wait until the school is deserted and then I'll drive us there. How does that sound?" Cato asked.

Peeta smiled and nodded, excited. "It's a date."

**A/N: Sorry for the wait and any typos you might find (:**

**Please R&R with your thoughts! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games nor do I promote student and teacher relationships because it cannot be guaranteed who is the stalker or who might be a pedaphile. **

Chapter Five

Outside of school, Peeta seemed much smaller.

They were sitting on opposite ends of a booth in the corner of the diner, waiting for conversation to bubble up. The car ride had been quiet, both of them unsure of what to say or bring up that would spark a conversation. Cato couldn't stop watching his student carefully, his eyes uninterested in anything else. Peeta had seemed to shrink back, almost like he was trying to make himself seem smaller and unnoticable. He stared at the table in front of him with intense scrutiny.

"So, why Biology?" Cato finally broke the silence by asking.

Peeta jumped, having adjusted to the quiet. He looked up from the table, his eyes like a deer caught in headlights. "S-Sorry, wh-what did you say?" he asked.

Cato smiled. "I was asking why did you choose Biology?"

"Oh." The student's gaze slid back to the table, unable to hold contact. "I thought it would be interesting. The inner workings of the body is fascinating, I always wanted to take Biology classes I just . . . didn't think to sign up until I made the deal with Madge." Peeta picked at the napkin sheepishly. "Why did you choose to teach it?"

"Biology?" Cato said. "I didn't choose to teach Biology. Double Award Science was the only thing I passed in high school so I thought the best thing to do was to try to pursue some sort of career in it."

Peeta pulled a face. "I hated science," he muttered.

"I did too," Cato replied. "Physics was the worst."

A smile tugged at Peeta's mouth. Like someone was pulling a string attached to his lips and letting it fall back. "Yeah," he said. "It was." Cato was fascinated by every crease in the boy's face. When Peeta smiled, a set of dimples would appear in his cheeks. Cato had never thought much of dimples before but on Peeta they were cute and, admittedly, a little bit sexy. Two small dents that captured Cato's attention every time Peeta spoke.

A waiter appeared to take their order and the mere sight of the man made Peeta flush and shrink back further. He chewed on his lip nervously, a small tremor making his hands tremble. To hide it, Peeta clenched his hands together and let them slide underneath the table. Cato realized that he was scared to order. Was that a social anxiety thing? He asked the waiter for five more minutes. "Tell me what you want and I'll order for you," he told Peeta, sliding the menu towards him.

Peeta shook his head. "I'm not really that hungry anyways," he said. A second later his stomach betrayed him by rumbling.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

"I don't even have any money on me."

"That's okay, it's my treat."

"I couldn't possibly let you do that."

"Don't be ridiculous, it won't cost that much," Cato assured him. Peeta still didn't look too eager to tell him what he wanted to eat. "I know you're hungry. If you're not going to tell me, I'll just order you something myself."

Peeta drew small patterns on the table with his fingertip. "Whatever," he said quietly. In the end, Cato got them something simple. Just two plates of pancakes. When he told the waiter this, Peeta's eyes had widened and he blurted out, "No berries on mine!" without worrying about looking like a fool.

"So, I'm guessing you _really_ don't like berries then?" Cato asked when the waiter disappeared again.

Peeta shrugged. "I'm allergic, actually," he replied.

"Severely?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have one of those-" Cato mimed injecting something into himself-"things?"

Peeta stared, confused, before realizing what he was taking about. "Oh, an Epi-Pen?" he asked. "Yeah, I do. But no one will show me how to use it until I'm eighteen."

Cato nodded. "I got taught on how to use those in First Aid training. I think it's pretty ridiculous that they don't teach the sufferer themselves on how to do it if they're a minor. I mean, what if you were on your own, what would you do then?"

Peeta chewed harder on his lip and shrugged again. "Die?" he tried.

"Always the enternal optimist," Cato said sarcastically. "Seriously, don't talk like that though."

Keen to change the subject, Peeta asked, "So how do you know about this place? Is it where you take all of your . . ." He trailed off, unsure of what exactly he was to his teacher. "Past conquests?" he settled on, not including himself in that group at all.

Cato laughed at the very idea. "No," he said. "My dad used to take me here when I was ten. He used to love coming out here to have breakfast for dinner."

"Breakfast for dinner?"

"Yeah, it's basically having breakfast food for your tea. Like fry ups or scrambled eggs."

Peeta nodded. "Oh, I see," he said. "I suppose it's lucky that it's so far out or we'd have had no where to go for this . . ."

"Date?" Cato prompted.

"Yeah, that." He risked a glance up at Cato and his cheeks flushed pink. "I'm sorry, I've just never been on a date before."

Cato found it difficult to believe that no one had tried asking Peeta out in the past and could only chalk it down to the boy getting embarrassed and saying no. Because there was no way he could be the only person to have crossed his path to notice his cute dimples and hynotizing blue eyes. "You've never been asked out before?" he asked.

The blush deepened. "Maybe I . . . have," the younger boy mumbled.

"And you said no?"

Peeta nodded. "I thought they were messing around!" he quickly added. "I didn't want to say yes and then for them to laugh in my face!"

Cato subconciously slid his hand across the table and let it rest over Peeta's. His student's hand was warm to touch. "I'm sure they weren't messing around," he said. "But I suppose a part of me is glad that you said no because then you might have been in a relationship and been even more reluctant to come here with me."

"I wouldn't be able to hold down a relationship," Peeta assured him. "I'm too difficult."

"You sound like you're talking about a family discussing the possibility of keeping the family dog," Cato said. Peeta had picked his napkin to pieces, the debris littered around the table. "You're not difficult."

"You don't know that," Peeta fired back, almost angrily. "You don't even know me!"

Cato sighed. "You're right, I don't. But I want to. Why don't we do answer for answer?" he suggested.

Peeta looked at him as if he were crazy but nodded anyways. "Okay," he said. "You go first."

"Okay. Erm, what's your favourite colour?"

"Orange." It was an instant answer, almost rehearsed. Cato tried not to chuckle when Peeta blushed for answering too quickly and ducked his face into his chest. When he did adorable things like that Cato really ached to kiss him. But he managed to restrain himself.

"Like vibrant orange?" he asked.

Peeta shook his head. "Muted. Like sunset."

Ah, perfect. Soft, gentle, just like him.

"What about yours?" Peeta asked.

"I've always quite liked blue."

"Which shade?"

Cato couldn't resist. "The exact shade of your eyes." Peeta's blush intensified to the point where his cheeks were almost scarlet. Oh, Cato really wanted to kiss those cheeks and feel the heat that was burning them. He wondered if Peeta would ever let it get that far. Where he could kiss skin instead of lips. Cato began fixating on what sort of noise the boy would release if he kissed his neck . . .

"Pet peeve?" he quickly asked to distract himself.

"My stutter," Peeta answered. "Yours?"

"I have a severe animosity towards straws that aren't bendy," Cato explained. Peeta snickered, the gorgeous dimples reappearing. "I'm serious! Straws were made to be bendy. Not these large, stiff imposters."

"You sound like a teenager sometimes," Peeta informed him.

"I get told that a lot."

Peeta smiled uneasily. "I keep forgetting you're my teacher."

Cato leaned forward, his elbows resting on the tabletop. "Want to know a secret?" he asked in a hushed voice. Peeta nodded. "Come closer." The younger boy did, leaning forward like his teacher so their faces were inches apart and waiting for him to speak. Cato curled his finger under his student's chin and pulled his face even closer, so their breath was mingling together. When he spoke, his lips brushed against Peeta's. "So do I."

They stared at each other. It was starting to get dark outside and the lights from the diner were beginning to get brighter. The bulb's glow made Peeta's eyes sparkle, the flare of light looking like tiny stars in the corner of his iris'. The thin blond eyelashes framing his eyes sprakled, fluttering like butterfly wings when he blinked. The sharp cut of his jaw cast a delicious shadow on the side of his neck and just under his chin. He was beyond perfect.

Cato couldn't resist it. One taste wouldn't hurt.

He brushed his lips gently over Peeta's, gauging his reaction before continuing. The boy was still, but didn't look scared. Cato pressed their lips together, folding the cupid's bow of the younger boy's top lip between his own, gently sucking on the soft pink petal. Peeta gasped but leaned closer, not wishing to break contact. It was like a fire had been ignited in Cato's gut and he wanted so much more than just a simple kiss. But it was something he knew he couldn't have.

Cato reluctantly pulled away, internally groaning when the younger boy whimpered. "We're still in the diner," he whispered.

Peeta jumped backwards, his eyes wide in horror. He looked around for any signs that had been watched but there were none. He chewed on his lip nervously, curling his knees up to his chest in the seat and trying to make himself look small again. Cato's lips were tingling from the kiss and he saw Peeta touch his own lips with his fingertips curiously.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," Cato said.

Peeta nodded, a weak smile growing on his face. "S'okay," he whispered.

As the waiter arrived and put their food in front of them, Cato had came to a decision. As an educator, he knew it was wrong. As a teacher, he knew it was dangerous. As an adult he knew it was irresponisble. But as a human being who, stripped down to core, wasn't a teacher of any sort and was just five or six years older than the one he desired, he knew he had to listen to what his heart was telling him.

And it was telling him that he wasn't going to let Peeta Mellark go. Not without a fight.

**A/N: Soooo, thoughts? **

***Note* I base Peeta's social anixety issues on the things I find difficult in ordinary life because of my own SA. I can't really do much else other than base it on personal experience. I find it easier than trying to intepret what other people might go through with it. **

**Please R&R, thank you! (:**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews guys! It's much appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games characters.**

**Chapter Six**

Sometimes Peeta feared that when he told Madge that he was going to start staying behind in Mr Hadley's class to try and work for extra credit, she was going to see right through him. It _did_ sound unrealistic, since it sounded like one of those cheesy porn plots. _I'm trying to get extra credit._ God, he even felt strange saying it. But, if Madge did see through it, she didn't show it.

Having a secret relationship was strange, especially since it was with his teacher. There was always a small feeling of fear that was coupled with constantly going behind everyone's backs, but Peeta didn't mind. Cato had a way of making it all feel worth while. And they did get work done . . . Most of the time.

"You spelt Photosynthesis wrong."

Peeta stared at the computer screen, at the supposed mistake. "No, I didn't," he said.

Cato chuckled. "Yes, you did." He took Peeta's pen and leaned over to point at the word on the screen. "It's 'syn' not 'ysn'."

Oh. He could see it now. Peeta blushed. "Sorry," he mumbled, quickly deleting the word. He corrected the silly error.

Cato shook his head. "No need to apologize, it was an honest mistake," he told him. "But be careful next time. In an exam there might be marks for grammar or spelling. Sometimes even for written communication and how you respond to a question."

Peeta nodded along with his words, taking down notes into a seperate pad he bought for exam technique. He wasn't being a nerd by buying an extra book, he just did it to prove to Madge that he did learn _something_ in the extra credit classes. When he and Cato weren't kissing anyway . . .

So far, instense kissing was as far as the relationship had gotten. Peeta felt bad because he knew he was the one holding them back. It wasn't like he _didn't_ want to go further, he was just nervous about it. And even though Cato said that he understood and didn't mind taking things slow, Peeta knew it was starting to get frustrating for him. It was hard not to notice how the front of his teacher's pants always seemed tighter when they stopped making out, even if said teacher always acted like it wasn't there.

"I need to go and check something in the staff room, I'll be back in a few minutes," Cato told him. He opened up one of the Biology textbooks and flicked to a random page. "Do those questions."

Peeta nodded. "Okay."

When Cato left, Peeta tried to focus on the questions given to him but ultimately couldn't. For some reason Cato was very focused on working today and his brain was fried from the amount of information he'd taken in. He swirled his fingertip around on the touchpad of the laptop before curiously sliding it towards the documents icon. He wanted to look at that list again, to see if he could try and understand what Cato saw in him.

Things had been added to it.

_Crystal blue eyes._

_Hair like individual threads of gold._

_Smooth lips, like two pink rose petals._

_Milky white skin._

_Meek as a mouse._

_Voice as smooth as silk._

_Barely says a word._

_Most beautiful thing on this earth._

_Cute blush stained cheeks, pink as a cherry._

_Endearing nibble on lower lip._

_Warmest mouth possible._

Peeta felt his cheeks heat up at the last one. Was having a warm mouth a good thing? It had to be, if Cato had put it onto his list. And he didn't nibble his lower lip that much! Only when he was nervous . . . He couldn't say anything about the blush. That happened _way_ too often.

The list ended up the scroller at the side of the document wasn't even half way down. Curious and maybe slightly impertinent, Peeta scrolled down to see what else was written. Below the list, written in bold was **DREAM LOG**. Did people really log their dreams now-a-days?

_**Entry Number One:**_

_I'm not sure what sparked this dream but it involved that boy who sits in the fourth row in my Biology class. We were naked and I was fucking him on what I think was my own desk. Strange but not unwelcome, since the boy is pretty hot._

Peeta blinked, re-reading it to see if he got it right. Wow, Cato really had liked him for a while, since that dream seemed to be logged before he even knew his name. Peeta's conscious told him he should be weirded out but the thought of doing . . . well . . . _that_ with his teacher wasn't unappealing. Which took a lot for him to admit to himself.

He scrolled down to a more recent entry.

_**Entry number Twenty Three:**_

_God, this boy is going to be the death of me. I'm serious, this time he was in one of those sexy school uniform outfits you can get in those costume stores. On his hands and knees, purring, "I've been a bad, bad, bad boy Mr Hadley, what are you going to do to punish me?" I've noticed that in these dreams I am nothing but an observer, I can't do anything. I suppose it's better that way. Since I really want to respect his bounderies._

Peeta felt flustered. Was it hot in the room or was it just him? He looked around, wondering what was taking Cato so long. At least he wasn't around to see him so perplexed and flushed. He couldn't believe that Cato had been thinking about him in that way. Well, he obviously didn't mean to, since these were _dreams _he was logging.

The last entry was actually about a dream from just the previous night.

_**Entry number twenty five:**_

_I think it was definitely the date the other day that made me dream this. Peeta was naked, in my bed, swathed in those silk sheets my sister bought me for my twentieth birthday. It was as if he was waiting for me. His eyes were dark, clouded with lust, and his ivory skin was covered in a thin film of sheet. He was moaning and writhing, I think something was pleasuring him. I felt kind of jealous, because it wasn't me making him feel like that and all I could do was watch._

Peeta had never been turned on before in his life, so he didn't know what it felt like. But right now he felt unnaturally hot and he was sure that his face was burning. He quickly clicked off the document and brushed his hair out of his face. God, it was so warm in this room. He had to calm himself down before Cato came back.

His mind kept going back to what his teacher had written. Cato dreamed about him in compromising positions like he described but always hid it. How did he do that? Was the only way Cato could get rid of the frustration the dreams gave him writing them down in a log? Peeta felt like even more useless.

"Sorry I took so long."

Peeta jumped, his heart falling into his stomach and taking a leap up into his throat. He looked at the blank screen where he was supposed to have answered the questions in the textbook. "Uh . . ."

"I got sidetracked talking to the janitor," Cato explained. He sat down beside Peeta again and quirked an eyebrow at the blank page on the laptop. "And I'm guessing the lack of answers here is because of . . . ?"

"Uh . . ."

Cato took Peeta's chin and turned his face towards him. "Are you okay? Your face is all red." A smirk crawled onto his face. "Are you flushed?" he asked, sounding amused.

"No," Peeta said defensively, jerking his chin out of Cato's hand. "It's just kind of warm in here."

"You _are_ flushed," Cato concluded.

"No, I'm not!" Peeta insisted. "It's just a . . . it's just a blush . . . You know, I blush a lot, it's kind of my thing, right?"

Cato chuckled. "There's a difference between blushing and being flushed. Trust me, I know. So come on, spit it out, what is it?" Noticing Peeta's horrified expression, he sighed and raised his eyebrows. "There's nothing wrong with it, so come on, tell me."

Peeta didn't look at Cato, focusing on the computer keys. Really, his teacher's immediate notice towards his flustered state did nothing to _help_ the flustered state. "I'm just warm," he insisted helplessly. "I couldn't focus on the questions because of all the new information I've gotten today."

Cato looked at the computer as well. "Were you hoking around again?" he asked.

"No!" Peeta realized all too soon that he had answered too quickly. His heart was beating like a drum and he worried that this time Cato was going to be annoyed about his nosiness. "I wasn't . . . I just wanted to look at the list again and noticed that you added more and I just . . ."

"You read the dream log, didn't you?" Okay, so he didn't sound annoyed. At least that was something.

"I didn't mean to," Peeta said. "I wasn't being nosy or anything, I was just bored and couldn't resist reading some of it."

Cato laughed. "And that's why you're flushed," he concluded.

"No, that's not it at all, it's just-"

Cato put his thumb over Peeta's lips to stop him mid-sentence. "Did you enjoy reading some of my dreams?" he asked in a low voice. Peeta blushed harder, feeling like a nosy pervert. "You know, in some of those dreams I _really_ wanted to be able to touch you." He tugged Peeta's seat closer to him and kissed his lips.

"You can't kiss me here," Peeta said sheepishly, pushing Cato's face away from him. He didn't want to but knew he had to. "We're in school. What if someone walked in?"

Cato whined. "Just one more," he said, tugging Peeta back to him. The younger boy chuckled but didn't let his teacher kiss him again. Cato sat back. "Tease," he muttered.

"If someone walked in right now, they'd think I was doing something_ else_ for my grades," Peeta reminded Cato. "And we'd never do extra credit classes ever again."

His teacher sighed, knowing it was true. "Then stop being so hot," he complained.

Peeta rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I don't even know what I'm doing to be hot in the first place, can't you tell me what not to do?" he asked. Cato shook his head, as if he had just asked him to explain the meaning of the universe.

"Do the questions," Cato said, distracting himself. Peeta nodded and turned back to the computer, glad to be able to do something productive. While he started working, Cato stood up to start packing his things away. When he was on his feet, he leaned forward so his lips were inches away from Peeta's ear and murmuered in a low voice, "Or I might just have to punish you."

Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and flushed, his finger pressing into the 'm' key so a long line 'mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm' came out.

A few nights a week, Peeta went home with Cato. If it was anymore than that then his parents would get suspcious at the amount of times he told them he was going to Madge's house. Thankfully his parents weren't the curious type and didn't call up Madge's house when Peeta was supposedly with her.

They had it down to a fine art. Peeta would leave school grounds first, walk until he was a couple of streets away from the building and wait for Cato to come in his car and collect him. It was so no one who were still lingering in the college would see him get into Cato's car. It was nerve-wrecking at first, going to Cato's house. He felt like he was an intruder. It got better, though, as Cato was very insistant on making sure he was comfortable. After that it sort of became a routine. Peeta liked going home with Cato. It was definitely a happier environment than his own home.

"So, basically, I'm planning on working in the bakery until I can get my own job and once I've gathered enough money, one of the first things I'm going to do is move out and buy a piano," Peeta explained, trying to fill the silence in the car that evening. He really wanted to ignore the elephant in the room . . . or car . . . He had gotten flustered. Over Cato. And he knew that that was all his teacher was focusing on.

Peeta talked regardless, not letting Cato get a word in edgeways, knowing that he'd somehow manage to re-direct the conversation to the dream log and the effect it had on him. But he eventually ran out of things to say and when he trailed off, the silence that followed was defeaning.

"So, have you ever kept a dream log?" Cato asked, amusement in his tone.

Peeta squirmed in his seat, fiddling with his fingers. "No," he said. "I didn't know people did that sort of thing anymore."

"Well, I don't really think so either," Cato chuckled. "I only keep a log of the ones I want to remember."

Peeta felt himself blush again, hugging his arms in embarrassment. "I didn't know you thought of me like that," he said. "Well, I suppose there isn't any reason for you_ not_ to but I feel kind of silly that I haven't had thoughts like that either. It's supposed to be a standard thing, right?"

"I wouldn't say _standard_," Cato said. "More like my mind is as dirty as a sewage pipe at the best of times and sometimes, I'll admit, it's hard to just kiss you and not do anything else but, as a man nine years older than you, I respect your bounderies and will not push this relationship any further than what you feel comfortable with."

"So my age is what's stopping you?" Peeta asked slowly.

"Of course not, but it is a factor. Others being that I'm a teacher, you're my student. I never knew if you would have been comfortable trying to expand the boundries a bit and I'd never do something that would make you feel uncomfortable," Cato explained. "Although, it was kind of sexy that you got flustered over my dreams."

"I wasn't flustered!" Peeta protested. "It was _hot_ in the room!"

"Oh yeah, sure it was," Cato replied sarcastically. "So, which one was it?"

"I wasn't flustered! And if I was it would probably be because of a mixture of all the ones I'd read."

"Which ones did you read?"

"Uh . . . 1, 23 and 25."

Cato groaned. "Uh, god, you read 23?"

Peeta shrugged. "It wasn't that bad," he said. "I mean, I'm sure if the school had uniforms then it would be okay. Although the ones from the costume shops wouldn't really be regulation attire, if I was to guess."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. That was one of my shameless dreams. Out of all the ones you could have read, 23 had to be one of them, didn't it?" Cato sighed.

"And you'd obviously have to punish me if I done something wrong . . . Like a detention or something . . ." Peeta continued.

Cato couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, sure, that's the sort of punishment I meant . . ."

"I mean you can't treat me any differently from anyone else," Peeta said. "I'm just wondering what I did in the dream, was I late? You said you had zero tolerance for tardiness, right?"

"I think you're totally missing the point. Which is a good thing, I suppose," Cato replied.

"The point?" Peeta asked. "Wasn't the point that I done something wrong and you had to be teacherly so no one else suspected anything?"

The car pulled up in front of Cato's house. The biology teacher couldn't help snickering, finding the fact that Peeta didn't understand hilarious. Of course, he wasn't going to tell him the truth of what happened in the dream that he decided not to log. The fact that he spanked him for his misbehaviour. Since Peeta would probably misinterpret it and think Cato was examining his backside for a rash or something.

"Sure, that was the point," he said, climbing out of the car. Peeta followed, a couple of steps behind him.

"So I didn't miss the point!" the student said truimphantly.

_Boy, you have no idea._

~xXx~

It wasn't that they were _addicted_ to each other, so to speak, but whenever they were alone, in a safe environment, they couldn't keep their mouths off each other. As soon as the door shut behind Peeta in Cato's house it only took about ten minutes before they were kissing again. New relationships were always like that, you see, which Cato knew but Peeta did not.

Kissing Cato never got old and the more they did it, the more Peeta got the hang of it. He knew what drove his teacher up the wall, what he liked . . . what he _really_ liked . . . it really wasn't as difficult as he had always thought it would be. Sometimes all he had to do was bite his bottom lip and Cato wouldn't be able to control himself and would push him against a wall. Not that Peeta minded. Sometimes he even did it on purpose . . .

Knowing for a _fact_ that Peeta had been flustered earlier, Cato decided to test the bounderies. A little bit at first to see how it goes. So while they sat on his couch, making out, he slid his hands down from the younger boy's face to his chest. No protesting, good start. He ventured down further, keeping the pace of the kiss going constantly, letting his hands meet at the small of Peeta's back. His student moaned and leaned closer to him, his hands pawing through his hair and sending shivers down his spine. God, how could someone so much younger than him have such an effect on him?

Well, he had gotten this far, he was going to go all the way.

Cato massaged the roof of Peeta's mouth with his tongue to distract him for a moment. The action made one of those cute, baby animal noises come from his student, which made him smile. Cato then took the opportunity to let his hands slide down and squeeze Peeta's plump behind. The boy squeaked, his grip on his teacher's hair tightening for a moment. Cato internally groaned, almost physically unable to remove his hands from his student's backside (a problem he never thought he would be faced with when he started teaching) because the soft globes felt so perfect in his hands that he just couldn't let go.

Peeta pulled away for air, letting his head fall onto Cato's shoulder. He was definitely flushed now, his entire face pink. Cato felt something pressing into his thigh and he looked down, delighted to see that he had finally managed to turn Peeta on.

Peeta, however, was horrified. "Oh god, I'm so sorry," he said, trying to pull away. "I didn't mean to get so worked up-"

"Hey, it's okay," Cato said, not letting the boy pull away from him. "It's a normal reaction, you're fine." He took the front of Peeta's shirt into his fist and tugged him back to him for a kiss. Because of his 'perdicament' Peeta squirmed uncomfortably, which made Cato chuckle. Thinking his teacher was laughing at him, Peeta flushed in embarrassment.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" Cato asked. "We don't have to." To make the point clear, he moved his hands and cupped Peeta's cheeks. "We'll do what you want."

Something told Peeta that it wouldn't be a good idea to go upstairs. But he didn't want to . . . well . . . stop this . . . whatever _this_ was. Well, they could go upstairs but it doesn't mean that they have to do anything drastic. Peeta was actually quite proud that they had gotten this far and he hadn't freaked out yet. He hoped he was doing okay, for Cato's sake.

"We don't have to," Cato reminded him when the silence dragged out too long.

"No, I was just thinking about it," Peeta quickly said. "Um, okay. We can go up . . . there." He slid out of his teacher's lap and tried to sort himself out a little bit. His shirt had ridden up a little bit and he fixed his jeans so that the perdicament wasn't as noticeable. Cato stood up as well, not as concerned about hiding his problem this time around.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Uh . . . yeah," Peeta answered as firmly as he could muster. "I'm sure. I mean, it's not like we're going to do . . . _that_, right?"

"Oh yeah," Cato replied, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's way too soon for that. You just seem a bit uncomfortable doing all this here and anyway, you look kind of tired."

Peeta hadn't noticed but he was kind of tired. It was late, since they had spent most of their time at the school while Cato finished a couple of things and he did some of the work given to him. But he had never stayed over at Cato's before and he didn't know if he was ready for it yet.

Cato led him up the stairs, not letting go of his hand the entire time. Peeta's blood was pumping in his ears and his legs felt like they were going to give out from underneath him. They went to the end of the hall and Cato went in first, gesturing for Peeta to go in. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went into the room.

There was a bed pushed against the wall and a small matt in the middle of the floor. Other than that, the room was kind of bare. "Is this your room?" Peeta asked.

Cato laughed. "No, this is the spare room," he said. "I didn't think staying in the same room would be appropriate just yet. This used to be my storage room. But I cleared it out for you."

"F-for me?" Peeta asked, astonished. He looked around the room in amazement. It was bigger than his room at home.

Cato gestured around the room flippantly. "If you want you can bring some of your stuff here. There's a couple of hooks if you want to hang stuff up and there's a wardrobe built into that wall if you want to leave some clothes or pyjamas here. I suppose it's just as well, this room was going to waste."

Peeta ran his hand along the far wall, admiring the paint job. "Wow, I've never had a whole room to myself before," he said quietly.

"Really?" Cato asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I share with my brother Rye," Peeta said. "It gets a bit cramped and sometimes I sleep on the couch because he brings home girlfriends and I'm certainly not going to get any sleep listening to them making out, am I?"

Cato pulled a face. "I wouldn't think so." He watched Peeta move around the room, admiring every nook and cranny like it was all crafted by an angel itself. Really, Cato had thought that it hadn't been that much and had thought that he could have done better. "You know, I had a friend who was a teacher once. She brought one of her students home with her because it was raining outside and she was going to give him a syllabus because he said he'd be interested in taking extra classes. Only the next week he told everyone she molested him. It took years before the courts realized he was lying. It's one of the many occasions that made the rule of teachers not being allowed to be alone with their students come through. Even outside school."

Peeta was silent for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't do that," he said. "Although, sometimes I wonder if people can see through us."

"I doubt they could," Cato assured him.

"It's the whole extra credit thing," Peeta said, a frown furrowing onto his face. "It sounds . . ."

"What?" Cato grinned. "Like you're doing something else for extra credit that doesn't involve work at all?"

"Stop grinning!" Peeta exclaimed. "I'm serious! You don't know what people think!"

"Peeta, babe, no offence but you're too innocent for people to think that you're doing anything _other_ than work," Cato told him. "Sure it probably crosses their mind but I bet they take one look at you and think, _Nah, he wouldn't do something like that_. I think we're very safe. Just as long as no one randomly appears in my house who goes to the school. And you're the only one from the school who knows where I live."

Peeta smiled. The knowledge that he was the only person who knew where Cato lived from the school made him feel pleased. And when Cato saw him smiling, it was like an infection that he would immediately catch. He smiled back.

"Okay, since you didn't know to bring anything this time," Cato said, "you can borrow some of my pyjamas." He went to the wardrobe and pulled out a white shirt and blue striped pants. "They might be a bit big but I'm sure you'll be fine. As long as they stay on."

Peeta took the clothes and marveled at the size. Not that Cato's clothes were _massive_ but it was much bigger than his because his biology teacher had a lot more . . . well . . . muscle mass than him. "I'm not sure these _will_ stay on me!" he exclaimed.

"Well, you're not going to know until you try them on," Cato chuckled. "I'll wait outside, okay?"

When Cato left the room, Peeta spread the pyjamas out onto the bed. He had always felt strange in other people's houses and he had never liked taking his clothes off in other people's houses either. Maybe it was the alien environment that made him uncomfortable? _Just do it quickly. Quickly and it will be over before you know it._

The pyjamas didn't fit him but at least it made them easier to pull on. He knotted up the tie on the pants so it was tight around his waist. The clothes were nice, they smelt like washing powder mixed with Cato's natural scent. Not that he was weird enough to know what Cato's natural scent smelt like . . . Obviously.

A small knock on the door. "Are you decent?" Cato asked.

"Yeah," Peeta said.

"Sorry about the clothes," Cato said when he came back in. "But next time you can bring your own pyjamas." Peeta nodded, pulling the sleeve up to cover his shoulder. It was hopeless, it slipped back down immediately. "What size are you anyway?"

Peeta blushed. "I'm really small," he said. "My mum used to say I was never going to get a man because I had a feminine figure and no gay man would want that."

"Wow, your mum sounds like a wonderful woman," Cato muttered.

"She is," Peeta insisted. "She can just be very . . . offensive . . . sometimes . . ."

Cato shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with your figure," he said. "In fact, sometimes people would rather go for a man with a feminine figure."

Peeta blushed harder. He touched his cheek with his hand and scowled at the heat that was coming from his skin. "Really?" he asked.

"Trust me," Cato said. "You've got a lovely figure." He captured Peeta's lips in a kiss, cupping one of his cherry stained cheeks in his hand and holding his face close to his own. He could swear that he felt the skin warm up even more under his hand. Cato wondered if he was flustered again. The thought was cute.

Peeta pushed up on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss and pushed his hands through Cato's hair. He was getting better at it, Cato noticed, and he didn't pause too much to think over what he was about to do before he did it. It seemed that the social anxiety wasn't as bad when they were together, like it was put on pause. Sure, sometimes he'd blush or stutter or have to pop a tablet or two into his mouth but it wasn't as bad as it had been at first.

Cato let his hands rest on Peeta's hips, pulling him a bit closer. It was at times like these were he wondered if he should feel weird that he was kissing one of his students. Who was staying over in his house. Dressed in his pyjamas. Like it should feel wrong. Cato guessed that if it was anyone else, it would probably feel wrong. But nothing ever felt wrong with Peeta.

"Do you like the room?" Cato asked, reluctantly pulling his head away from Peeta's.

"I love it," Peeta said, relieved that he didn't have to worry about sharing a bed with Cato. Not that he didn't _want_ to share a bed with Cato but just . . . not right now. It was a scary thought. It terrified him. Not in a bad way . . . more in the way of fearing the unknown.

"And if there's any problems through the night, just come and get me," Cato said, gesturing at the bed. "My room is two doors up."

"Right," Peeta nodded. "Got it." They stared at each other. Peeta tried to guess what shade of green Cato's eyes were exactly but couldn't. It was like they were a shade of their own. He desperately wanted to try and replicate it with his paints. What would he have mix? Some blues and other greens? It may take a while but when he got home he was definitely going to try.

Cato pressed on last kiss against Peeta's lips and smiled brightly. "Night," he said, heading for the door. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Peeta replied, perching uneasily at the edge of the bed. When the door shut behind Cato, he sighed, unable to believe that he was staying at his Biology tutor's house. Was this supposed to be wrong? Why was it wrong? It didn't feel wrong at all . . .

Not even a little bit.

**A/N: I'm just going to clear up that they're not moving in together, that would be a bit strange for only knowing each other for a couple of months. No, Peeta is just staying over in Cato's house and he has his own room (:**

**Please R&R! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_A single drop of sweat slowly made its way down his chest, creating a glittering trail that made his porcelain skin shine. His head was thrown back, heavy pants escaping his trembling form. He was only supported by his elbows, his slim legs wrapped around the waist of whoever was pleasuring him. He was bare, stripped down to his rawest self. Sexy, gorgeous, beautiful. He's always been that, I know. It's not just from these crazy apparations do I admire his pulchritude. I do it every time I'm by his side. Even when I'm not. Even in my dreams he's gentle, delicate, like he could shatter if I didn't handle him properly. Which, I suppose, he could. Because he's made of glass, my Peeta is, he's a tender creature, a boy I know I have to keep a hold of. But not too tight . . . because I don't want to break him. _

Cato stared at the computer screen, angry with himself for having yet another dream about Peeta in that way. It was okay at first but now it was beginning to make him come off as a prick who was only looking for someone to fuck. Which wasn't true. He geuninely liked Peeta and _did_ want to give him his space before they did anything extremely intimate. It seemed that whatever part of his brain controlled what he dreamed just hadn't gotten the memo about that yet.

He left his room and went downstairs to get himself a glass of water. As he put his glass down and watched the moonlight stream through the window and reflect off the liquid, he decided to get Peeta a glass as well. In case he woke up thirsty. He picked out a glass not too big and not too small and filled it up as well.

His house was old. It had to be at least over half a century old at most. It made every footstep creak omniously and Cato winced with every step he took back upstairs. Even his bedside table squeaked when he put his glass onto it. He really had to move house. Maybe this time he could try and buy one of those newer houses in Capitol Avenue. The thought made him snicker. Like he could afford that(!)

Never had he been more aware of how much noise his feet could make until he started walking down the hall to the spare room. Cato could have sworn that his floorboards were just being difficult, groaning every time he put weight onto them. They were never this loud when he was on his own.

He paused outside the door, letting silence settle so he could gauge if he'd woken Peeta up or not. Cato couldn't help smiling when he could hear soft snoring coming from behind the door. It wasn't the cringy, brutal, if-you-don't-stop-snoring-right-now-I'm-going-to-shove-my-fist-down-your-throat sort of snoring. It was pleasant, peaceful. In fact, it almost sounded like a docile purr.

Now came the difficult part. Cato gently placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, slowly opening the door and peering in. His eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dark, shapes flickering into sight as dark masses. A tuft of blond hair was peeking out from the top of the covers, a small form curled up inside it.

Cato tip toed across the room, leaving the glass on the bedside table. As soon as his hand left the tumbler, Peeta moaned sleepily and pushed the duvet away from his face. Cato froze, thankful when he realized that he wasn't waking up, just moving the covers from his face in his sleep.

How can someone still be stunning, even when they're sleeping? Weren't you supposed to be your most unnattractive when asleep? Because you aren't aware of how you look and can't fix yourself? Cato knew he looked like a dinosaur when he was sleeping, Clove had taken pictures of him when he'd fallen asleep in her house and posted them on facebook. Because, you know, she could be a bitch like that sometimes.

But Peeta's beauty was still dazzling in his sleep. His arms were hugging his pillow, which obscured most of his face. Cato was half tempted to reach out and run his fingers through his hair and turn his head so he could see his face properly. He had this calm expression that was so peaceful that Cato thought it would be a sin for him to ever be disturbed. Oh god, he was so beautiful . . .

Cato leaned over and brushed some hair off Peeta's temple to press a kiss to his head. The young boy smiled dopely into his pillow and mumbled something incohearant into the fabric. Every part of him wanted to climb into bed beside him and wrap him up into his arms. Hold him close. Stroke his hair, nuzzle his neck. Feel the heat coming from his body. But he couldn't do that. Because he had rushed into relationships before and they never ended well. And this one was even more risky because Peeta was A) a student and B) severely socially anxious.

But Cato was definitely aiming to get there someday.

**Two Days Later:**

That Monday at school, something weird happened.

"You spelt photosynthesis wrong, Madge."

"What?!" Madge exclaimed, grabbing her page and squinting at it. "Did not!" It was the end of the day and they were packing their things away, when Peeta had noticed that his friend had made the exact same mistake he had.

"Yeah, you did," he said, pointing at the scribble on the sheet. "It's 'syn' not 'nys'." He corrected the spelling with his pen and handed it back to his friend, who was still staring at her mistake, trying to work out where she had gone wrong. Even though he had just told her.

"Oh," she finally said. "Oh! I get it!" She folded the page up and slipped it into her pocket. Shouldering her satchel, she asked, "So, do you want to do something tonight?"

"Sure," Peeta replied. "What were you thinking?"

"I dunno," Madge shrugged, shoving her folder under her arm as they went out onto the corridor. "Want to see if there's a movie on in the omniplex?"

The omniplex was a cinema/theater/swimming pool centre that was a couple of blocks away from the college. It didn't show new releases, it specilized in showing old classics. The amount of times Peeta and Madge went there to see _Weekend at Bernie's_ was astronomical. Sadly, most people around Panem didn't really have a taste for classics and barely anyone ever went to the cinema anymore. But that was one of the reasons Peeta liked the place so much. Crowded areas made him nervous and the cinema was always quiet and peaceful.

"Sounds good," he said. Madge nodded. She peered past Peeta and quirked an interested eyebrow. "What?" Someone tapped his shoulder and he turned around, surprised to see Marvel Winters from IT standing behind him. "Oh, hey Marvel."

"Hi Peeta," Marvel said. He smiled at Madge. "Hello Madge."

"Hiya Marvel," she replied, saluting him. "What can we do you for?"

"I was wondering if I could talk to Peeta?" Marvel asked.

Madge raised her eyebrows and pulled a jokey face at Peeta as she passed. She paused when she saw his panicked look. Where as she going? Was she going to go far? _"Relax,"_ she mouthed at him before winking and walking up to the girl's bathrooms that weren't too far up the corridor, thankfully.

"So, um, what can I do for you, Marvel?" he asked.

Marvel didn't seem to know what to do with his hands for a moment before settling with putting them on his hips. "I was just wondering, are you doing anything this afternoon?" he asked.

Peeta blinked, put off by the question. "Well . . . Madge and I were just talking about going to the omniplex . . ."

"Oh really? What's on?" Marvel asked.

"No idea . . . really . . . We were going to find out when we arrived," Peeta explained. He nervously brushed his hair from his face. "Do you go to the omniplex?" he asked.

Marvel shrugged. "It's kind of my guilty pleasure," he admitted. If Peeta had been the sort to pick up on someone sending him signals, he would have noticed all the things that Marvel was doing that screamed interest. Like the way his eyes had trailed up and down the length of him at least twice since they started talking, or how 'are you doing anything this afternoon' was a big red neon sign saying, "IF NOT, WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME?" But he wasn't the sort to notice signals and he did not realize.

What Peeta did do was remember when he read a booklet that said that expanding your social circle could sometimes help ease the edge of the anxiety. And he told Cato the morning they spent together in his house that he was going to try what he could to work on improving his anxiety. Because apparently Cato had noticed that it was improving anyway and working, even in little ways, would greatly aid a road to maybe not complete recovery but definitely improvement.

"Do-do you want to come with us?" he asked.

At that exact moment, Cato came out of the biology room. Peeta jumped in surprise, as if the teacher had burst out and screamed "BOO!" at them. "Eager to stay in school boys?" he asked.

"Hell, no," Marvel replied.

"Why are you two lingering in the corridor then?" Cato asked. Peeta marveled at how Cato could just put on a face and pretend that there was nothing between them. It always took Peeta a moment to adjust to having Cato beside him without speaking to him too casually or saying something he shouldn't. The last time Peeta had seen him was the previous Saturday when he went home after staying over and what happened that Friday night suddenly came back to him. He shook his head, fighting to quell the memories and not let them show on his face. Which was harder that it sounded.

"I was actually just asking Peeta out," Marvel said.

Peeta looked at Marvel in shock. "You _were_?!" he asked in alarm.

"Yeah, I'm just not very good at it," Marvel admitted. "But I'd love to go to the omniplex, if the offer is still up?"

Still slightly stunned, Peeta nodded. "Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too quickly. "Yes, of course it is." It wasn't like he was going to tell Marvel that, no, he wasn't allowed to come with him and Madge now that he knew he had been trying to ask him out. Sure, it was strange and made him slightly anxious, but he wasn't going to be rude.

"Well," Cato said, holding his facade very well, "I hope you two have fun."

"Madge is coming too," Peeta quickly blurted out, trying to ignore how his heart was pounding in his chest.

"I hope the three of you have fun then," Cato corrected.

A loud bang diverted their attention to up the corridor, where Madge burst out of the girls' bathroom with a strip of toilet paper stuck to her foot. "ARGH!" she yelled, lifting her foot and shaking it violently until the paper came off. She stormed down the corridor in a flurry of blonde hair and rage, "That bathroom is a hole, I swear to fucki-" She came to a stop mid-way down. "Oh hey Mr Hadley . . ."

"Hello Madge," Cato said. "What was that you were saying?"

Madge flushed and rubbed her arm sheepishly. "I was saying that the bathrooms are unsatisfactory, I swear to fudging goodness," she said.

Peeta snickered, covering his mouth with his hand to hide it.

"Are you sure?" Cato asked with an amused smile.

"Quite," Madge replied. "Uh . . . you coming Peeta?"

"Yeah," Peeta said. He glanced at Marvel uneasily. "Is it okay if Marvel comes with us?"

Madge grinned. "Oh course," she said, her voice mischieveous. "The more the merrier. Come on, let's go! You know how tickets sell like wildfire at the omniplex!" She was being sarcastic, of course. "Bye Mr Hadley!"

"See you Mr Hadley," Marvel said, starting up the corridor.

Peeta turned to Cato as well. "Bye Cat-" He cut himself off by pretending to take a coughing fit, horrified that he almost blurted out Cato's name as if it'd be okay. "Bye Mr Hadley," he corrected.

Cato, who was trying to hide his amusement, said, "See you guys tomorrow. And remember, you've got homework."

"Right," Peeta nodded.

"Come on!" Madge yelled from the top of the corridor.

"Indoor voice Madge," Cato called back.

"Sorry!"

"Bye," Peeta repeated when both Madge and Marvel were out of earshot.

Cato grinned and winked. "See you tomorrow."

~xXx~

Maybe inviting Marvel to the omniplex hadn't been the best of decisions.

Because Madge was Madge, she had to take the seat at the end of the row because she had misinterpreted Peeta having invitied Marvel along and put it into the wrong context. _Weekend at Bernie's_ was on again so they settled on watching that. At first it was okay, since they were all absorbed in the film as it was, but half way through Marvel kept trying to take his hand. Trying to be polite about it, Peeta wedged his hands between his knees and scooted closer to Madge.

Everytime he got asked out by someone, he was touched. Of course he was touched that someone was attracted to him enough to ask him out on a date but he never had the gumption to say yes to anything. He was too scared to mess things up or make a fool of himself and dates always lead to things like intimacy and a relationships. Up until what had happened with Cato, Peeta had always feared these things. They were terrifying to him. The thought of holding someone's hand in front of everyone, capturing their attention and making them stare, sounded really scary. He hated having people stare at him. It felt like they could look right into him and see all his secrets.

Wedging his hands between his knees didn't work in the end. Marvel just slipped his hand under the arm rest between their chairs and let it rest on his leg. Maybe a bit too _far_ up his leg for his liking. Peeta desperately wanted to swipe his hand off him but began to worry about what would happen if he did. Would he hurt Marvel's feelings? He didn't want to hurt him, he loathed the idea of hurting anyone.

So he endured the movie with the hand on his leg. Occasionaly Marvel would tighten his hand or curl his fingers which always made Peeta's breath disappear and he had to keep this mantra going in his head, _"It just a hand, it's just a hand, it's just a hand."_

After the movie Madge, again, being Madge, decided to take a hasty exit. A hasty exit which she exaggerted with a wink in Peeta's direction as she left. That left Marvel and Peeta alone, standing outside the omniplex shelter trying to figure out how they were going to get home without getting soaked in the rain.

"That was fun tonight," Marvel commented as Peeta rubbed his arms to warm them up. "We should do it again sometime."

"Y-yeah," Peeta replied. Well, what was he going to say to him? _No?_ That would have been rude and nasty. Plus, maybe next time Madge could sit between them and it wouldn't be as bad. God . . . that sounded horrible, like Marvel was a disease or something . . .

"Maybe next time it could just be the . . . two of us?"

Oh no. What could he say now? If he said no then the most likely response will be 'why?' And what would his excuse be? 'I can't, I'm in a complicated relationship with my Bio tutor'? Outside of that there was the only other options of 'I don't want to,' 'I don't like you,' 'you're not my type,' and the truth. All four of these would be hard on Marvel and frankly aren't very nice.

"M-maybe," Peeta stuttered, settling with this answer as it didn't set anything in stone.

"I've been meaning to ask you out for a while now," Marvel continued. "I just never got the chance to because you always do those extra credit classes, you know?" Peeta chewed the inside of his cheek nervously. So more people were aware of his extra crediting than he had first anticipated. Well, as long as he played it right, there was no reason for Marvel to be suspicious.

Peeta stamped his feet to get some warmth into him. The weather had changed drastically since they'd left school, going from sunny and bright to rainy and dark. His cardigan was still in Cato's classroom. He hadn't had a chance to go back and collect it because of Marvel's appearance by his side in the corridor. It was so cold he felt like all his fingers were going to break off like icicles off a rooftop.

Something warm suddenly enveloped him and he realized Marvel had taken his jacket off and had draped it over his shoulders. He turned to say thank you but didn't get a chance to as the older boy took misinterpreted it and intercepted his words with a kiss.

Peeta's eyes widened in horror, his body freezing in fear. He knew he had to push Marvel away but he was too stunned, shocked into a state of paralysis. His face flushed as blood rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment and his lack of protest gave Marvel the wrong idea, the idea that he actually didn't mind that he was kissing him. This made him wrap his arms around Peeta's waist and pull him closer, so their bodies were pressed together.

When sense finally came back to him, Peeta squirmed in Marvel's arms, trying to get out of the embrace. But Marvel wasn't having that. He tightened his arms around him and backed him up against a wall so he was pinned. Heart feeling like it was going to explode, Peeta pushed against his shoulders, feeling like he was trying to push a brick wall into moving. His breathing was shortening and he was beginning to panic, being so trapped and helpless scaring him to the point of madness.

"You've been begging for this all night," Marvel said in a low voice. The sort you'd hear from the bad guy in the ads about rape. One hand slid into the backpocket of Peeta's jeans while he other gripped his inner thigh, his knuckles grazing his crotch. Peeta lashed out fearfully, his fist accidentally-on-purpose knocking Marvel's temple. The blow was enough to distract him and Peeta used the opportunity kick him in the nuts.

Marvel yelled in pain and crumpled to the ground, his hand grabbing his abused crotch and his face screwing up in pain.

Peeta dropped the jacket and ran away from the omniplex as fast as he could. His lungs were screaming and his breathing was short and heavy. "I'm going to get you for that you whiny bitch!" Marvel yelled after him. Peeta didn't stop, even when he felt his heart rattle in his ribcage, the signal to slow down and breathe.

Rain soaked his clothes, the cold droplest sliding down his skin and between his shoulderblades. His hair was matting to his forehead but he didn't care, he had to put as much distance between Marvel and himself as possible. When he was far enough away, Peeta slowed down. He was dripping wet but he felt safer now that he was a couple miles away from the omniplex. At least Marvel hadn't followed him, that was something.

God, what had just happened? Peeta rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand to get the saliva off it, horrified that he'd been practically mouth raped by someone he barely knew. As he walked, his heart beat slowed down and his breathing evened out with the aid of the breathing exercises his therapist told him to do when he felt a panic attack to come along.

"You're in control," Peeta whispered to himself. "You are in control of your breathing, you control it, it doesn't control you. You're in control, in control, in control." Why should he have a panic attack over something as petty as Marvel being greedy and unable to understand the signals that said _no._ He hadn't felt this panicked since his mother pushed him into playing the violin at a family dinner. "I am in charge of my breathing, it is not in charge of me."

He slowly calmed down, his breathing climbing down to a reasonable level. His clothes were like a second skin by now, his arms and hair soaked in water. He wished Madge was here, she'd know just what to say to make him feel better. But as he walked back in the direction of his house, he realized that everything couldn't be okay all the time.

Peeta started tapping his thigh, his fingers acting like they were pressing piano keys. Whenever he was nervous or fidgety, he always pretended he was playing the piano as it always relaxed him. It was always the easiest, since he couldn't pretend he was playing the flute or clarinet or violin, even though they had the same relaxing affect on him. But he wasn't going to walk down the street in the rain pretending he had a violin under his chin just for the sake of relaxation. Piano keys was the most descreet.

The only time his instruments _didn't_ relax him was when his mother forced him into playing in front of people. Even though she didn't appreciate his interest in music and the arts, she always exploited it to family or friends. Aside from the piano, he also played flute, clarinet, violin, guitar and spoons and if anyone was ever round at the house, his mom would demand that he play something, even though she knew full well that he didn't like doing it in front of people. If he said no to her, she would treat him like dirt for weeks after, claiming that he had 'embarrassed' her in front of everyone, just because he said no to her.

Peeta sighed with relief when the rain stopped, glancing up at the sky as the droplets ceased to fall. At least he wasn't going to get any wetter now. He rounded the corner and found himself on Cato's street. He had never realized before but he had to go through his teacher's street to get his own. Peeta paused outside Cato's house and wondered if his tutor was home. He imagined walking up the lane, knocking on the door and having Cato answer. Would he be happy to see him? Angry that he was bothering him after hours? Irritated by his clingy-ness?

Peeta walked on, deciding to put the entire night behind him.

**A/N: Whelp, Marvel's a dick. Peeta should just stick with Cato, his innocence attracts all the wrong people.**

**I have put synopsis' for my future fanfictions up onto my profile ad I'd love it if you guys let me know which one you'd like me write next once I've finished my others. I've also posted a story for the movie 'Red Dawn' if you guys want to take a look at that too! It'd be greatly appreciated! :D**

**Please R&R! :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Slightly shorter chapter, more of a filler really. But the content is just as good! (I hope anyway)! **

**Guys, don't forget to #votekatniss for the MTV best character on facebook and twitter! Last I checked she was losing to Tris from Divergent! We need to pull the numbers back up!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

**Chapter Eight**

Cato was obsessed with Peeta's throat.

Sometimes, even when he teaching a class, his eyes would fixate on the young boy's neck while he took notes. Not in a creepy vampire stalker way but in the way that Cato couldn't get the voice that that throat produced out of his head. If angels walked the earth, he was pretty sure that's what their singing voices would sound like, as cheesy as that sounded.

Peeta's self consciousness over his singing voice was even clear through the way he acted in class. Sometimes he'd hold his throat with his elbow propped against the desk. Cato worried that on occasion he'd notice his staring at his neck and his covering was a signal to stop it because it made him uncomfortable or nervous. Even if this was true, Cato couldn't stop.

This was what drove him to ask Peeta the question that had been prying on his mind that night at his house.

"Can I try something?"

Peeta blinked, his innocence clear. "What is it?" he asked.

Cato shook his head, wanting him to experience it, not be told what was coming. "Trust me?" he replied. This sentence seemed to be enough for the younger boy and he immeidately nodded, knowing that Cato would never hurt him or do anything bad to him.

He leaned forward and pressed their lips together, presting his hand on the nape of Peeta's neck and pulling him close. They slowly pulled his mouth away and explored down deeper, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin of his neck. The student yelped, his hands fisting his tutor's hair like his life depended on it. Cato loved the small sounds Peeta made, they were cute and hot at the same time. He wanted to keep them coming, to listen to them forever. Next to his singing voice, his moans were the most beautiful music Peeta could make. The best thing was, it came to him effortlessly.

"Oh god, Cato," Peeta moaned. His head was clouded with lust and he couldn't keep quiet. The feeling of Cato's mouth on his skin was quite alien but in a good way. Like when you travel to a different country but are apprehensive, only to discover that it's full of culture and entertainment. Because of his confused and clouded state, he wasn't really sure which way was up or down, all he could register was how extremely good Cato kissing his neck felt.

His body reacted in a way he didn't fully understand, moving almost on its own to push against Cato. It was like the delectation caused had an immediate connection to the desire to be intimate and close. Peeta loved the way Cato always took control, because it comforted him, ensured him that he didn't have to make major decisions, decisions he'd probably get wrong if he was in control.

But he couldn't get _close enough._

"Your moans are so hot," Cato purred, blowing cold air against the saliva his lips had left on the younger boy's skin. Peeta's hands gripped his biceps tight, a small whine coming from his lips.

"I'm sorry for being so loud."

"No, keep going." Cato took a risk and gently nipped the skin between his shoulder and neck. Peeta closed his eyes and sighed, a content little sound that made Cato's heart swell. He knew that Peeta would like his neck being kissed. The biology tutor pushed his hand through the student's hair and gently tugged, pulling his head back so his neck was completely bared to him. Peeta squeezed his eyes tight, his chest heaving heavily, waiting for Cato's next move.

Cato leaned forward and kissed his adam's apple, letting his lips linger there. Peeta inhaled but didn't exhale, too scared to breathe out again. Cato tapped kisses from there back up to his lips. "I love your throat," he murmured. "The sounds that come from it are so perfect and beautiful, I could die a happy man if it meant I could listen to it forever in heaven."

Peeta blushed. "That is so cheesy," he said.

"But true," Cato responded. He pulled Peeta's face closer, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips. "I think your throat is my new fetish. I could kiss it forever."

Peeta snorted, immediately horrified with the sound. "I-I-I-"

"Sssh," Cato teasingly murmured, pressing his thumb against the boy's swollen lips before saying, "I feel like a vampire," as he lowered his mouth to his neck again. Peeta gasped, his hands sliding up Cato's arms to frame his face. "So," the older man said, "How did your . . . movie . . . go?"

"Good," Peeta answered breathlessly. He deicded to leave out the fact that he had unintentionally given Marvel the wrong idea and paid the price for it outside the omniplex. A large part of him knew it was his fault because he had made Marvel think that they were out on a date and actually had a shot with him.

Cato let his head rest against Peeta's chest, the simple _thump-thump_ of the boy's heartbeat comforting him. "Did Marvel enjoy the film?" he asked.

"Uh . . . I think so?"

"Did you clear with him that it wasn't a date?" Cato asked.

Peeta bit his lip and winced. "I might have forgotten that tiny detail . . ."

Cato sighed. "Oh Peeta, are you really that oblvious?" he asked, his voice amused.

Peeta scowled. "I'm not oblvious!" he exclaimed. "Why would I think it was a date? I didn't say yes to him! I just invited him to come to the cinema with me and Madge!" Cato chuckled and shook his head, clearly finding what he was saying funny. "I mean, I sort of figured it out once he made the move but that's . . . that's not that point . . ."

"He made a move?!" Cato exclaimed. He lifted his head and looked at Peeta, his eyes intense. "What did he do?"

"Nothing bad," Peeta quickly said. "Just tried to take my hand and stuff."

"Your hand?" Cato asked slowly.

"Yeah, but I didn't let him," Peeta assured him. "He was kind of pushy but I kept him at a distance . . ."

Cato cupped his cheek, his expression concerned. "He didn't pressure you into doing anything, did he?" he asked.

Peeta shook his head frantically. "Oh no, he didn't pressure me into anything. I mean, he did try to get into my pants but it doesn't matter, I told him no," he quickly explained.

"When you said no, he stopped didn't he?"

Peeta scoffed, trying to act nonchalant. "Of course he did," he lied. "No means no, right?"

Cato was sitting up on his elbows now so he could look at Peeta's face properly. "Peeta," he said, his voice low. "What happened?"

Peeta shrugged. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing horrible anyway. It was my fault, anyhow. I should have told him it wasn't a date. I just thought he'd get the idea since I didn't say yes, you know?"

His teacher sighed. "Peeta, babe, you need to be clear with people. Some wouldn't see the obvious, especially those who are just after that one thing . . ."

"What one thing?" Peeta asked. Cato quirked an eyebrow. Peeta's cheeks flamed as he realized what he was talking about. "Oh . . . oh! I get it . . . Uh . . . I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Actually, quite the oppisote."

Cato raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Peeta smiled weakly. "I kind of kicked him in the nuts," he admitted sheepishly. "He didn't seem to appreciate it too much." Cato burst out laughing. Peeta's smile twitched shyly, happy he had made him laugh. "I haven't seen him in school actually, I'm worried I've really hurt him."

"Oh don't worry about it, I'm sure he'll survive," Cato chuckled. "I am so proud of you for standing up for yourself. But you're going to have to gather the confidence to assert yourself and let people know when you don't want to do something, especially when it concerns things like dates and intimacy."

Peeta cast his eyes to the floor, turning his head so it lay against the arm of the sofa. "I know," he said quietly. "But it's easier said than done."

"I understand," Cato said sincerely. "Why don't you try with small things? With people you're comfortable with? Tell them when you're uncomfortable or don't want something. Or, in fact, if you do want something. It's a two way street. You can want something just as much as you don't. I believe you can do it."

"Y-You do?" Peeta asked.

Cato smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. "Of course I do."

~xXx~

The shower.

Peeta's greatest enemy.

At home it was fine. His shower at home wasn't a problem. But in any place other than his house, showering made him nervous. He always made sure he was clean before he went to other people's houses, which wasn't very often anyway. It was just the thought of being naked in someone else's house that made him feel scared or too exposed. He hated showering in unfamiliar environments.

He sat in his room in Cato's house, listening to the water running through the pipes. His teacher was currently having a shower himself, not having a problem doing it with other people in his home. He was a complete gentleman about it though, making sure he wasn't being rude in going to shower by waiting until he thought Peeta was asleep.

Peeta tried to sleep, he really did, but he couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Cato was in the next room . . . showering . . . He didn't know why it was worrying him so much, keeping him awake for as long as it was, but for some reason he just couldn't concentrate on sleeping. He just sort of lay in bed, swathed in the quilt covers, listening to the water and imaginging it swirling around inside the pipes and rushing out of the shower head.

He was in his own pyjamas so he was a bit more comfortable now, not having to worry about them hanging off him or being too big. He had also brought a toothbrush, spare clothes and some toothpaste. There was a niggle at the back of his head that told him that that meant something. What though, he couldn't recollect.

About half an hour later, the water stopped and Peeta held his breath, the same way he used to when he heard his mother passing his room when he was a kid. It was a habit, the fear of breathing out and being heard strong. When the door of the bathroom opened, he shut his eyes tight, remembering Cato sayingt that he would check in on him when he got out. To make it more believable that he was asleep, he turned around so he was facing the wall, the covers shucking down so they pooled at his waist when he moved.

Five minutes later, the bedroom door opened. Peeta just about remembered to breathe out, realizing that Cato would probably think he was dead if he didn't breath properly. He could feel his teacher's eyes on him and he prayed he didn't notice he was still awake. Cato sighed and went to the bed, taking the covers around Peeta's waist and pulling it up to his neck. The quilt was warm and Peeta was glad that Cato pulled it up for him.

"Everything's going to be alright," his tutor whispered to him, smoothing his hair back from his face. "I'm going to look after you."

Peeta couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face.

Cato leaned over and kisses his forehead, his lips cool on his forehead. "You're mine," he gently whispered. "All mine."

Only one thought came to Peeta as he fell asleep.

_And you're mine too._

**A/N: Oh by the way, I've posted a poll onto my page concerning future Peetato stories! Please vote if you can! :D**

**Please R&R! :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: You guys are so awesome! Thank you for all your kind reviews! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Nine

"Peeta, can I talk to you, please?"

Peeta stared at Principal Coin in surprise, not sure about whether she was expecting an answer or was just letting him know that they were going to talk either way. Madge looked taken aback, standing beside Peeta with her mouth hanging open. It was quite a shock, being stopped in the middle of the corridor by the principal, asking to 'talk' to him. It had certainly never happened before. Madge slowly reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Um, o-okay," Peeta stuttered nervously. Coin nodded and started walking down the corridor to her office. Madge turned and quickly pulled him into a hug before he could follow.

"It's probably nothing," she muttered into his arm.

"I hope so," Peeta replied.

"It will be," Madge insisted.

"Are you coming Mr Mellark?" Coin called.

Madge pulled back and hit his arm with a jokey smile. "I'll tell Mr Hadley you're talking to her," she said.

Peeta nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Principal Coin's office felt like it was designed to make students uncomfortable. Or maybe that was just Peeta being paranoid. He stood anxiously by the door and watched Coin sit down at her desk, wondering whether he was supposed to sit down as well or whether she would think he was being rude for just assuming that he could sit down.

"Please, sit," Coin said. Relieved, Peeta did so, perching uneasily at the edge of the chair opposite hers. His heart was pounding, beating his ribcage like a hammer against a wall. He fiddled with his fingers to keep himself calm. What was this _about_? "There has been many concerns raised recently over how long you actually stay in school after hours."

Peeta's mouth felt as dry as a desert. Who was concerned? Who _noticed_? "I-I've been taking-"

"Extra Credit Biology, I know," Coin said. She propped her elbows on the edge of her desk and gave him a strange look. "Who else takes these extra credit classes?"

"I-I-It's just m-me." God, he was stuttering like a fool. Was Coin able to see through that? Did his stutter give away that he was hiding something?

"I see," Coin replied. She didn't sound like she believed him. "And these classes are taken by . . . ?"

"Mr Hadley." Even saying his name made Peeta feel like he was giving too much away. Like saying Cato's teacher's title was the same as saying, _"He's my kind of sort of boyfriend, Miss!"_

Coin nodded, as if this made sense. Peeta didn't see how it couldn't make sense, since Cato was the only Biology teacher in the college so why wouldn't he be the extra credit teacher? Peeta looked past Coin and out the window behind her, where a swallow was perched on a branch. It must be nice to be free like a swallow, with no ties to keep it in place. It could take off and go where-ever it wanted. While he was trapped here in Principal Coin's office.

"You see, Peeta, you're not supposed to be alone with a teacher, even after school hours," Coin explained. "I know there's no possible way you could have known this but as a teacher Mr Hadley is well aware of this rule and I don't understand why he's broken it."

Peeta swallowed, trying to wet his parched throat. It wouldn't work. "W-what are you trying to s-s-say, Miss?" he asked.

Coin lifted her eyebrows. "You tell me," she replied.

His heart felt like it was going to explode, and his stomach was churning so badly he felt sick. Was she expecting him to just answer? Go, _'Oh yeah Miss, we're having a relationship,' _with no problem? His hands were trembling now, his fingers jittery and tripping over each other. Peeta decided to just stare at Coin, waiting for her to continue.

"Look Peeta," she finally said, "you're a good kid. Your grades are good and you've never been in trouble. But, and I don't mean this offensively, but you seem to be a very naive boy. Like you wouldn't know if someone was taking . . . _advantage_ of you."

"A-a-advantage?" Cato wasn't taking advantage of him!

"Peeta, I know talking about these things can be difficult but the school has to know if something is going on," Coin insisted. "I know you may not realize it but you're the perfect target for a sexual predator. A bit anxious, innocent, a little bit naive. I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, I'm just trying to do my job and make sure you're safe."

"I am safe," Peeta quickly said. "There's nothing going on, I swear!"

Coin didn't look convinced. "I'm sorry Peeta but the extra credit classes have to stop. Even if there is no funny business going on, they have to end as of now. I don't want to think the worst of Mr Hadley but he is definitely capable of causing a lot of trouble when he wants to." She tilted her head. "Is that a love bite, Mr Mellark?"

Peeta flushed, tugging his coat collar up to cover the hickey Cato gave him. "No," he said. "It's . . . It's just a bruise."

"How in the world did you get a bruise on your neck?" Coin asked.

"I . . . I tripped."

"And fell on your neck?"

Peeta nodded. He knew it didn't sound convincing but he had to keep with it. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and die right there. Coin sighed, still in disbelief, and slid a pamphlet across the desk. "I'd like you to read this," she said. "And if you ever want to talk, my door is always open."

Peeta picked up the pamphlet and frowned. Written across the front in big red letters was:

_**Have you been sexually harrassed?**_

Whoa. This was a bit too surreal. He _wasn't_ being sexually harrassed, couldn't Coin see that? Why wouldn't she believe him?

"Okay, thanks Miss Coin," he said, not having the courage to argue. He awkwardly stood up and went to door, glad that this whole ordeal was over.

"Oh, and one more thing," Coin said, haulting him at the door. "I'm arranging for your timetable to be switched."

Peeta turned back around, alarmed. "Why?"

"I'm not saying I don't believe you when you say that nothing is happening but I would be much more comfortable if someone else took you for Biology," Coin explained. "I've arranged for another Biology teacher to come in."

"Mr Hadley won't lose his job, will he?" Peeta asked.

"Oh no, I can't fire him because of a couple of worries. But I do have license to investigate it further," Coin explained. "And if there is even the slightest hint of something going on, then I have full authority to suspend him, which can lead to the permanant loss of his job."

Oh god, Cato couldn't lose his job because of him! Peeta was horrified at the thought. "Okay Miss Coin," he said quietly. "I understand."

Miss Coin smiled. "You're a good kid, Peeta. I'd hate to see you get hurt over something that could be easily solved."

Peeta clenched his fists. _You don't understand. If I tell you the truth, your solution would hurt more than the problem does._

~xXx~

Peeta sat on a bench outside the college, the pamphlet clutched in his hands. It didn't make sense. Who had raised the issue about him extra crediting for Cato? Who was concerned about him? Who told Miss Coin that he was always on his own when he was with Cato anyway?

Some of the stuff in the pamphlet was ridiculous. Cato wouldn't do any of this to him! It was all ludicris, some of it even somewhat embarrassing.

_By way of example, prohibited conduct that may be considered harassment or discrimination may include unwelcome or inappropriate:_

_- verbal comments or remarks that are derogatory, sexually suggestive, offensive, threatening, intimidating and/or hostile;_

Cato definitely did not do that. He was so keen to keep his mouth shut he actually wrote it on his computer for goodness sake just so that he wasn't going to get himself into trouble!

_- physical behaviour such as pats, squeezes, deliberate brushing against someone's body, impending or blocking normal work or movement, unwanted sexual advances, or unwanted touching;_

Now that was just silly. Cato was constantly respectful. He never touched Peeta when he was uncomfortable or didn't want it. It wasn't touch him unless given the green light and never, _never_, touched him inappropriately just because he felt like it.

_-visual harassment such as displaying messages, photos, graffti, pictures, cartoons, or drawings, even at one's own work station, that are derogatory, sexually suggestive, offensive, threatening, intimidating and/or hostile;_

_- written comments or remarks including, email, voicemail, text messages, and posts on online social netwros that are derogatory, sexually suggestive, offensive, threatening, intimidating and/or hostile._

Well, he did write the dream log but he didn't do it with the intention of Peeta seeing it. It was for his own private use which, as creepy as that sounded, wasn't nearly as bad as actually writing it and forcing it down Peeta's throat just to show him that he was doing it in the first place.

The pamphlet was infuriating. Maybe it helped for people who _were_ being sexually harassed but the information proved that Peeta was not being abused by Cato. None of it added up. But if he tried to insist this to Miss Coin, he knew she wouldn't understand. She'd probably think he was being even more naive than she already believed he was.

But what if Cato got into trouble because of their actions? Peeta didn't want to be responsible for Cato losing his job. He didn't feel like he was worth it. He _wasn't_ worth it, really. If they continued . . . whatever was going on between them . . . Then Cato was definitely at risk of losing his job and, in extreme causes, going to jail.

Gathering all his courage, Peeta stood up and made his way to Cato's street as fast as he could. He knew that his teacher wouldn't be home but he went anyway. His heart was pounding again, pumping blood around his body and making him feel sick. He was scared, god knows he was always scared, but he had to try and do this. If it worked, then it meant that things were supposed to continue between them, if it didn't, well, then it didn't. And Peeta would end it.

He didn't know how he came to this decision from reading a sexual harassment harassment pamphlet but he had to know if this was genuine. If what he had with Cato was true or if it was just a fling. Because Peeta didn't want Cato to lose his job over a silly fling.

Cato told him where he hid the spare key, in case of an emergency, and Peeta grabbed it from underneath the plant pot, sticking it into the lock and getting into the house before anyone saw him.

It felt weird being in Cato's house on his own. It was empty and seemed much larger. Like if he spoke, it would echo out. Peeta couldn't stay downstairs too long or he would start rethinking what he was about to do. He went up stairs as quick as he could and locked himself in the bathroom.

Taking deep breaths, he looked at himself in the mirror. He hated how he looked. Skinny, sickly pale and sissy blond. What did Cato even see in him in the first place? Peeta stared at himself for a long time, trying to see what every person who had ever asked him out, Marvel and even Cato himself saw in him. He couldn't see anything other than a plain, boring boy.

But he still had to do this.

Stepping away from the mirror's judging gaze, Peeta shrugged off his cardigan and folded it up. He yanked his shirt over his head, hating the feeling of the cold pricking his skin. He untied his shoe laces and kicked them off, immediately fixing them so they sat on the right side of each other. His hands fumbled with his belt and he shucked his pants off before he rethought it all.

The point of all this? He wanted to see if Cato was going to accept him as he was, inside and out. Because if he wasn't prepared to do that then what was the point? What was the point in Coin changing his timetable and putting Cato's job on the line if their relationship wasn't going to go anywhere anyway?

As soon as he caught sight of himself in the mirror, Peeta cringed and had to get one of his tablets out of his backpack.

Okay, he could do this.

Could he?

~xXx~

Cato slammed the door behind him. God, it had been such an infuriating day. Alma actually had the _nerve_ to move Peeta out of his class just because of some 'concerns' raised by other people. He'd like to meet those concerned people so he could introduce their faces to his fist. Why couldn't people just mind their own business? Why do they involve themselves in things that didn't concern them?

Urgh, Cato was so frustrated. He hadn't seen Peeta all day and missed him terribly. How was he going to survive the days to come knowing that Peeta wasn't going to be in his classroom, keeping him sane? How was he going to survive the rest of the year without him there? Without Peeta all his biology class was was a room packed full of hormonal girls who didn't understand half of what he was saying.

He went upstairs, wanting nothing more than to lie down and try to sort things out in his head. He was about half way up the stairs when he saw the bathroom door open. Whoa, was someone in his house? The door hadn't shown any sign of being broken or damaged, so a thief didn't seem likely. Plus, what sort of thief would go into his bathroom anyway? Well, maybe they wanted his toilet paper with the flowers printed on them . . .

Cato pushed the bathroom door open. A green cardigan, a backpack, a shirt and a pair of pants lay on the floor. Strange, they looked like Peeta's clothes. But Peeta wouldn't strip in an alien environment, he already told him that. It was one of his many idosyncrasies that made up his unbelievably sweet self. Cato looked behind the door and noticed that his dressing gown was gone. Curiouser and curiouser.

He decided to pop his head round Peeta's door, just in case. The probability was that he just left his clothes the last time he was over but it was just a precaution, in case something had happened and Peeta was in trouble, as unlikely as it sounded. Cato didn't want to take any risks.

Out of all the things he thought he'd see, _this_ had never crossed his mind.

Peeta sat against the wall opposite the door, practically drowning in Cato's dressing gown. His head snapped to the door as soon as it opened, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Cato didn't know what to say, or do for that matter. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions and he didn't want to assume anything, but he was pretty sure that Peeta wasn't . . . wearing anything under that nightgown.

Because the dressing gown was so big, it pooled at his elbows. His pale shoulders were on show, the ivory skin pebbled from the chill of the room. His legs were bare as well, curled up to his chest with his feet pressing into the carpet. Cato was no expert but unless he was wearing skimpy clothing (which _really_ wasn't Peeta's style) he was naked under there.

"P-Peeta?" Cato asked, confused as to what exactly was going on.

"They wanted to get me to admit to you sexually harassing me," Peeta said. "They said you might lose your job. I don't want you to risk your job for something that might end in a couple of months time, and before we commit to something serious, I need you to see the real me. Every inch of the real me." He slid up the wall so he was standing, his hands trembling as he started to intie the knot keeping the dressing gown tied around him.

"Oh Peeta, you really don't have to-"

"No, I know I don't. I-I want to."

The knot came out and the dressing gown fell.

**A/N: There is currently an unmovable tie between two of the stories on my poll so I'm going to alter the settings so you guys can vote one more time for a story. Can you vote for a story that you didn't pick the last time so the results vary a little bit?**

**Please R&R! :D**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey guys! I'd like to say thanks again to everyone who voted in my poll! If you haven't checked it out already, 'The Thin Line Between Obsessed and Crazy' won and is already posted on my profile :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Chapter Ten

"You're making this harder than it needs to be!"

Cato refused to relent. His hand covered his eyes, so all he could see was the dark shadows created by his hand. "Just explain to me why you think you have to do this first," he said. There was a pause. Cato could vaguely hear Peeta breathing, the sharp, chopped sound giving away how afraid he was. Why did he think that showing him his body would show whether they had to be together or not?

"I don't want you to lose your job over our relationship only for you to look at me later on and think, _Oh my god, what have I done?_" Peeta explained. "Which you might do, when you see me like this. I think it's better to get it out of the way now while you still have your job, rather than later when you don't."

"Peeta, you know I wouldn't do that to you, I've told you on numerous occasions-" Okay, now he was re-thinking it. Had he told Peeta how much he liked him? Or had he not done it enough? Surely it was his fault that Peeta had felt driven to do such a thing, right?

"You have . . ." Peeta trailed off uncertainly. "But for all I know you could be just saying it! A lot of the time I just thought you were trying to make feel better in that moment. I mean, your words are always so sweet and stuff, why would anyone say that about me?"

Cato frowned. "Why wouldn't they? Trust me, I don't say those sorts of things to any old radomer I go out with," he said. "Peeta, everything I say to you is sincere, I'd never tell you a lie to make your feel better, I'd tell you the truth."

"You could be lying right now!" Peeta sounded hysterical and Cato began to worry. What exactly happened to him at school today? What happened him? "I don't know! It's still a bit early in the relationship for you to say anything serious, so how do I know that you're not talking rubbish?"

"Because I'm not! Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you! Just look at me and prove it!"

"How is this going to prove anything?" Cato insisted.

"Because love isn't just based on words, is it? You could be saying all this now and you could be sincere and all that but what if you look at me later on when we . . . when we . . ." Peeta skipped over what he was going to say next and continued. "And you don't like what you see? What if my mother is right and I'm skinny and feminine and not even you would want that?!"

"Not just based on . . . What else have you picked up over the years about love that isn't true?" Cato asked. "Who told you all this?"

"My . . . My mother."

"So your mother says that you have a feminine body and no one is going to love you because of that and has you somehow convinced that you have to do this to . . . what? Prove a point?" Cato frowned. He reached out and walked slowly, careful not to trip, so that his hand came into contact with Peeta's cheek. The skin was smooth but felt cold. How long had he been like this?

"I'm scared you won't like what you see," Peeta whispered quietly. "What if later on, even after you maybe tell me that you love me or something and we're maybe g-g-going to d-do _that_, what if you take one look at me and think that I'm ugly and you begin to regret everything."

"I'm not that shallow. I would never do that," Cato replied. Why would Peeta think this? Did his anxiety made it hard to believe things concerning him? Good things, anyway, if Cato turned around and started saying horrible things to him, Peeta would probably believe it.

"Prove it then, look at me."

"I can't. You're obviously in a very vulnerable position right now and looking would be taking advantage," Cato said. "Why don't you put the robe back on and I'll make you a cup of tea and we can talk about this rationally?"

Peeta grabbed Cato's wrist and started tugging. "Please look . . . You don't want to look at me . . . Oh god, this is what I worried about . . ."

"Peeta, stop tugging and calm down," Cato instructed, grabbing Peeta's wrist and extracting it off his own. "Take deep breaths."

"I knew it, I'm ugly and you know it and you're just trying to seem noble by pretending that you don't want to look at me just yet and . . . and . . . and . . . arrggh . . . and you'll lose your job for nothing and . . . and . . . and . . ." Peeta was rambling in a panic, his breathing now short and more erratic.

Cato could feel him trembling under his hand. He was going to have to move his hand away from his eyes so he could calm Peeta down. It was either that or he was going to go into a full blown panic attack. Okay, he could do this. _Just don't let your eyes linger on anything and focus soley on his eyes. _

He removed his hand from his eyes and immediately focused his eyes on Peeta's large, startled baby blues, and resisted the urge to take them anywhere else. "Okay, Peeta, I know you think I'm lying to you but I'm not, I promise. You're having a panic attack and you need to breath before you pass out." Cato looked around the room and sighed at it's bare interior. "Come with me."

He grabbed the robe from the floor and guided Peeta out of the room and down the stairs. Sitting him down on the sofa, he quickly ran into the kitchen and grabbed a paper bag from his top drawer. "Here, breathe into this," he said, giving Peeta the bag.

Peeta covered his mouth with the bag and panicked into it. Cato watched the bag blowing out and pulling in with his breathing. This method was outdated but it was all he had at hand right now. He sat down beside Peeta and reached out to rub his back comfortingly, quickly retracting his hand as he realized that he couldn't touch him right now, especially since he was sitting with so much skin exposed.

When he researched this on wiki-how, it said to cool the panicked person down by maybe dabbing their face and neck with a wet cloth. Cato didn't know if this would help but he certainly didn't think it would be appropriate because the current panicked person was wearing nothing but his underwear and was panicking about the fact that his boyfriend thought he was ugly.

"To me, you're going to be beautiful, clothes or no clothes," Cato said, his eyes fixed on Peeta's blond hair and hoping he was making him feel better.

"How do you know that, you won't look at me!" Peeta threw the bag away and threw his head into his arms. "No one's ever going to want to look at me."

"I will, but not when you're so scared and vulnerable," Cato explained. "It's a giant step to take in the relationship and it to be taken because you're frightened I won't accept you. We're not even sleeping in the same room yet, Peeta. I think you're going a bit fast."

"Argh, you're right, I'm such an idiot," Peeta muttered. "I-I'm so sorry."

"Hey, you don't need to be," Cato replied. "You were having an episode."

"But I feel so stupid now."

"Don't, honestly, it's okay." Cato studied Peeta's face, which was half hidden by his arms. If he sneaked a peak right now, he wouldn't know . . . No, stop it, that's not fair. That's taking advantage. Peeta looked so miserable, he felt awful. "Okay, how about this. You get into your pyjamas and we'll have a go at sleeping in the same room, how does that sound?"

Peeta tilted his head so one eye peered out from the crook of his arm. "R-really?" he stammered.

"Yeah," Cato answered. "If you want to, that is." He grabbed the nightgown and covered Peeta with it. "I'm willing but I won't force you to."

"No, I-I'm willing," Peeta said eagerly. He sat up, holding the robe close to his body and smiling brightly. He flushed in embarrassment at his enthusiasm.

Cato smiled. God, Peeta was cute when he blushed. "Does your parents know you won't be home tonight?" he asked.

"My . . . my parents are away on vacation," Peeta explained. "They won't be back for two more weeks."

Cato frowned. "How long have they been gone?" he asked.

"Not long. A month last Monday," Peeta answered.

"Peeta, that's pretty long. Is there anyone at home who looks after you?"

"Yeah, my brother Rye! Although he isn't home very often. It still counts though! And Wheat sometimes visits too," Peeta quickly explained. "My parents will be back soon, I promise." Cato was skeptical but couldn't argue. Peeta's parents had been away for a month, that wasn't something he was going to ignore. It wasn't a matter for the present but they were definitely going to come back to it.

~xXx~

Peeta stood anxiously outside Cato's room, apprehensive about going in. He was definitely a lot more comfortable in his own pyjamas and was glad that he remembered to bring them. He still felt like a fool after his episode from earlier but Cato had been so understanding that the humiliation wasn't as strong.

"Peeta, are you coming?" Cato called from inside the room.

"Yeah," Peeta called back. He shuffled into the room sheepishly, tugging his sleeves down as far as they would go. After his episode, he felt more self-conscious about how he looked. Had Cato seen anything? He knew he hadn't looked at him intentionally but . . . there was still accidental noticing . . .

Cato sat at the top of his bed, his glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read the sexual harrassment booklet Coin had given Peeta. "Is this legit?" he asked. "I mean, I haven't done any of this to you, have I?"

"Oh no," Peeta quickly said, shutting the door tight behind him and stopping at the bottom of Cato's bed. "It's a load of rubbish. Well, obviously not to people actually seeking help for sexual harrassment but you've never done any of that to me."

Cato raised his eyebrows at Peeta. "You look petrified, are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked.

Peeta nodded quickly. He didn't want his episode to have happened in vain and really wanted something to come out of it. "How . . . how do I . . . you know . . ." His hands flailed pathetically as he tried to get across what he was trying to say.

"Just come sit beside me," Cato said, gesturing at the space beside him.

Thankful for some guidance, Peeta moved to the side of the bed and awkwardly sat beside Cato. He had only ever shared a bed with Madge when they slept over at each other's houses when they were kids so he wasn't sure what it was going to be like to share a bed with someone who wasn't her.

"Peeta, you still look scared," Cato pointed out. "You don't have to do this just yet if you aren't ready."

"No, I am, I swear," Peeta insisted. He scooted a little bit closer and smiled at his teacher weakly. "I promise I'm fine."

Cato smiled back and wrapped his arm around the younger boy's shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Okay, let's see." He turned his attention back to the booklet, skim reading it. "_By way of example, prohibited conduct that may be considered harassment or discrimination may include unwelcome or inappropriate:_ _ erbal comments or remarks that are derogatory, sexually suggestive, offensive, threatening, intimidating and/or hostile_," he read. "I didn't do that to you, right?"

Peeta shook his head. "No," he said. "As far as I'm aware . . . As Prinicpal Coin kept saying, I'm very naive so I probably wouldn't notice . . ."

"Naive? Prinicpal Coin told you you were naive?" Cato asked, sounding shocked.

"Yeah," Peeta mumbled.

"Don't listen to her, you're not a naive," Cato said. He glanced back down at the booklet."_Physical behaviour such as pats, squeezes, deliberate brushing against someone's body, impending or blocking normal work or movement, unwanted sexual advances, or unwanted touching_?" He didn't say anything for a moment. "At least I didn't block your school work . . ."

Peeta smiled, feeling himself blush again. "Because that's the only part of that option that you can think that you didn't do?" he teased.

Cato shrugged. "Why? Did the other stuff make you uncomfortable?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

"No! I liked it!" Peeta blurted out. His cheeks flamed and he looked away, unable to meet Cato's gaze. Why did he have to be such a bumbling idiot? Cato chuckled and kissed his cheek, which did nothing to defuse the whole blushing situation. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I think we need to have a talk about things that merit a 'sorry' and things that don't need it," Cato said. "It's okay to like things."

"Yeah but not _those_ sort of things."

"Yes those sort of things." Cato squeezed him again and kissed the top of his head. Peeta flushed and turned his face into Cato's chest to hide it. "Trust me, your sexuality's a weird thing and you're right at the age where you're going to start to recognize it and explore it more."

"Did you . . . explore it when you were my age?" Peeta mumbled.

"A bit younger, actually," Cato answered.

"What, really?"

"Yup." Cato rubbed the bridge of his nose and put the booklet onto the bedside table. He reached out to switch off the lamp but paused. "Do you prefer the light on or off?"

"Oh," Peeta said, "I don't mind." Cato nodded and flicked it off. Peeta waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, pulling the guilt over his legs and watching Cato take his glasses off and put them into their case. "So . . . h-how does this work?" He could just about make out Cato's smile as he looked at him.

"Right, come on, lie down and I'll show you," he said.

Peeta did as he was told and slid down underneath the covers of the bed until his head rested against the pillow. He felt a little bit awkward, lying in someone else's bed, and he tried not to bolt off the bed and run into the spare room. He _had_ to give this a go. Not just for Cato but for himself.

Cato lay down beside him and, ever so carefully, wrapped his arms around his waist. Peeta found himself naturally moulding into Cato, letting his head and hands rest on his chest. Cato was actually very warm and being held by him was a lot more comforting than Peeta had first anticipated. His presence was soothing and alleviating. He had never felt as mollified before in his entire life.

"Is this okay?" Cato asked in a hushed voice.

"Sssh," Peeta mumbled. "Tired."

Cato chuckled and kissed his forehead, stroking his hair as he slowly fell asleep.

~xXx~

Peeta woke up in the middle of the night, despite his body's protests. His eyes fluttered lazily and he groaned softly to himself. He must have moved at some point over night as he was lying on his back now . . . he hadn't fallen asleep like that, right? A chill bit at his skin, making goosepimples rise along his arms and neck.

Reluctant to move, he sluggishly reached down to grab the covers and pull them up over himself. Instead of finding the covers, his fingers touched hair. Wait . . . hair?! Now that he thought about it, something very heavy was ontop of him right now. Who was it?

Forcing his eyes open, Peeta blinked away the sleep and lethargically lifted his head. Oh yeah, that's right, he was sharing the bed with Cato . . . his teacher . . . His teacher who was currently lying ontop of him, fast asleep. How had they switched positions so drastically in only a few hours?

When he tried to extract himself from underneath Cato, his boyfriend moaned sleepily in protest and held on tighter. Peeta let out a tiny gasp as he felt his teacher's hands slid across his bare back when he tightened his grip. How had his hands managed to get under his shirt?! Was Cato a sleep _toucher_ or something? Not that it really felt all that bad . . .

While he was noticing these things, Peeta also noted that the mattress was pushing his shirt up (maybe the reason why Cato's hands found their way underneath?), that Cato's head currently lay on his stomach, and something very hard was pressing into his leg-what _was_ that?

Peeta manouvered his head so that he could peer down and see what was pressing into him. He bit his lip and winced when he realized what it was. Were they supposed to be _that _big? Peeta flushed and looked away, ashamed at himself for staring. "Get it together Mellark," he muttered to himself.

Cato slowly began to wake up, fighting it at first before giving in. "Mmf, what time is it?" he groaned.

"I don't know," Peeta whispered back.

"It's very early baby, why are you awake?" Cato mumbled, letting his eyes close again. Moments later, he was asleep again. Peeta was astounded by how quickly he could lose himself in sleep. It would normally take himself around twenty minutes to fall asleep!

"Wow Cato, your attention span is fascinating," Peeta chuckled to himself. He pet Cato hair, smiling at him affectionately. He was cute when he was asleep. Much less . . . stern looking . . .

Half an hour after he fell asleep, Cato started mumbling in his sleep. Peeta strained to listen but could only make out his name and a string of incohearant compliments that made him blush. He didn't mind listening to him at first, in fact it was very cute, but then he felt the hands on his back slide down and he didn't know what to do.

God, sleepy Cato was a lot more handsy than awake Cato. Peeta was torn between waking him up or leaving him be. When the hands found purchase on his backside and squeezed, Peeta bit his fist to hold back a loud yelp. Oh goodness, it felt even better the second time. Why did it feel so good? He should be ashamed with himself.

_Trust me, your sexuality's a weird thing and you're right at the age where you're going to start to recognize it and explore it more._

Cato had said it was normal . . . Maybe it wasn't something to be ashamed of . . .

Peeta realized his heart was beating pretty quick. Not panic attack quick but a different sort of quick . . . His neither regions were feeling strange and a small (okay, quite large) part of him wanted Cato to 'sleep-squeeze' again. He felt unnaturally hot, like he had when he had read Cato's dream log, and he wished he could distract himself with a logical thought. But logical thoughts wouldn't come. His head was clouded with things he didn't understand.

What if Cato hadn't covered his eyes earlier? What if Peeta was confident and proud of how he looked? What if Cato liked what he saw? What if he kissed him . . . like they had kissed before but with a lot more passion and intensity . . . What if it went further than it had ever went before . . .

_Whoa, hold your horses Peeta. What the hell has gotten into you?!_

"Peeta," Cato muttered drowsily, his hands tightening again. Peeta squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip hard, his hips lifting a little bit to rub against the rough material of Cato's pyjama pants.

_Ohhh ggoddd . . . _

The pyjama pants actually relieved the pressure down below and Peeta found himself rubbing against them to keep himself occupied. It began to feel really nice and eventually his eyes drooped closed, all his mind could focus on being that weird feeling he was experiencing. He didn't understand it, but what he was doing felt good and in that moment that seemed to be all that mattered.

"Peeta?" Cato's voice was suddenly a lot more alert and Peeta paused, his heart fluttering like the wings of a caged bird. "Peeta, are you humping me?"

Oh, shit.

What now?

**A/N: Soooo, what did you think? Let me know! :D**


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